


Like a Dream

by The_Ominous_Owl



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Ridiculously Slow Burn, Slow Burn, alternating pov, descriptions of violence, like seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 61,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ominous_Owl/pseuds/The_Ominous_Owl
Summary: When Rachel finds one of her constables bloody and beaten in an alley, lines are crossed and loyalties tested as the team races to find the perpetrator before his cat-and-mouse game reaches its inevitable conclusion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A slow burn fic I wrote over a number of years and originally uploaded to FF. I'm uploading it here in honour of finally finishing the damn thing.

The nightshift had so far been slow. Sergeant Rachel Weston was sitting in the IRV outside a 24-hour café favoured by police unfortunate enough to get the late-night shift, sipping a rapidly cooling coffee and listening to her partner for the night, Arun, recount an anecdote from his training.

“So yeah, anyway, as he’s climbing back down the tree with his baton in his mouth, our sergeant comes out and stands just next to me, and I’m too scared to say anything so when Bobby gets to the ground and turns around, he comes face-to-face with–” he was cut off as his radio crackled into life. Rachel’s grin faded as they both froze to listen to the call.

_“All units from Sierra Oscar; reports of a theft at the Andromeda bar, offender detained by security, any unit deal?”_

Arun looked questioningly at his sergeant, who handed him her mostly-empty coffee and reached for her radio. _“Sierra Oscar from Sierra Oscar 2-1, show us dealing,”_ she replied as she started the car and Arun poured the remaining coffee out the window.

At that time of night, the drive only took them about five minutes. They were met by a bouncer as they climbed out of the car, and he introduced himself before leading the through the crowd of semi-drunk partygoers to where a second bouncer was holding the arm of a girl in her mid-teens. Next to them was an irate-looking middle-aged man in a suit, an incongruous sight next to the club patrons.

“Good, you’re here. You took your time,” he snapped, his tone and manner irking the sergeant almost immediately. He interrupted Rachel’s apology with a wave of his hand. “Never mind that, I want to know what you’re going to do about this delinquent.”

“What’s she done, sir?” the sergeant questioned, hiding her growing irritation at the man behind her professional mask and motioning Arun forward to secure the girl.

“The sneaky bitch took my wallet.”

“No I never!” the girl yelled, struggling against Arun’s grip. The constable was stronger than her, though, so she settled for making a rude gesture towards her accuser. He reacted predictably, and Rachel was forced to step between the pair of them to stop the argument getting physical. That didn’t stop them yelling at each other, though, and they continued to trade insults and threats, ignoring the two officers’ orders to calm down until Rachel lost her patience.

“Enough! Either you both calm down, right now, or I’ll arrest the pair of you for breach of the peace!” Rachel saw Arun shoot her an amused look as she pushed Suit Man back a few paces. There wasn’t really that much peace to be breached around here; the sergeant could feel the heavy bass from the club pounding through her rib cage, but both complainants got the message and fell silent. “Right, now that we’re being civilised, we can sort this out. PC Ghir, could you search her pocket, please.”

“Wait, what?” the girl exclaimed, trying to back away. “You can’t search me, I ain’t done nufin’.”

“I think you’ll find we can. If you’ve got nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to worry about now, have you?” Rachel nodded at Arun to continue, but the teenager caved.

“Okay, alright, here,” she yanked one arm from Arun’s grip and dug around inside her jacket, extracting a black leather wallet and thrusting it towards the sergeant. “There. Can I go?”

“No. Do you want to press charges, sir?” Rachel asked the man, handing the wallet back to him.

He made a great show of going through it before shaking his head. “More trouble than it’s worth, and I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time, Officers. Forget it.” He gave them a contemptuous wave and disappeared back into the crowd.

“If we see you again, it’ll be a different story, you understand? Go home,” Rachel warned the girl as Arun let her go.

“Whatever.” She too vanished into the crowd.

Rachel sighed and rubbed her eyes, then started back towards the car. “Call it in; let them know the victim NFA’d it.” Arun nodded and reached for his radio as the pair of them began manoeuvring through the crowd.

Rachel had just opened the door to the IRV, and was about to drop into the driver’s seat when a figure dressed in the uniform of the club security darted from the crowd and slammed on the bonnet. He was talking franticly, but Rachel couldn’t hear him over the noise of the crowd. Arun caught his arm as the sergeant moved around the car to stand beside them.

“You have to come, quickly, I think she’s hurt—“ he was babbling, and looking back over his shoulder towards the mouth of the alley that ran down the side of the club.

“Calm down, sir. Who’s hurt?” Rachel asked him, scanning the direction he was looking in.

“There’s a woman, I went into the alley for my smoke break, she won’t let me near her, she’s bleeding I think. You have to help her!”

“Okay, show us.” Arun released him and they followed him to the mouth of the alley. Rachel couldn’t see anything beyond the shadows, but the bouncer was pointing towards the silhouette of a bin about halfway down.

“There, she’s behind that. Help her, please.”

“Okay, sir, we’ll take a look. If you could just wait here; we’ll need a statement from you.” He nodded, and Rachel made her way cautiously in the direction he’d indicated, with Arun close behind her.

It didn’t take them long to find her. She had pushed herself into a corner, and had curled herself tightly in the foetal position with her head buried in her arms. In the half-light cast into the alley by a nearby street light, they could see dark bruises on her wrists and a bloodstain on one of her sleeves. Rachel motioned for Arun to stay back, before slowly approaching the woman. “Madam? I’m Sergeant Weston from Sun Hill, you’re—Oh my god…” she trailed off as the woman raised her head slightly, and both officers saw her face.

“Oh crap, Millie?”


	2. Chapter 2

Your first instinct, when it was over and he’d walked back up the alley and out of your sight, was to find the closest hole and crawl into it. Failing that, you push yourself into the nearest corner you can find, between the wall and the dumpster, and curl up with your knees to your chest and your head buried in your arms. It makes you feel safer, if only slightly. You can hear the pounding of the music through the wall; feel it thumping through your chest, matching the rhythm of your heart. Racing faster than your heart are your thoughts, which are rushing through your head far too quickly for the miniscule part of your mind that’s still thinking rationally to comprehend. Why had he done it? Why you? What if he came back? You should get out of there, but your legs don’t seem to be working.

A sound jerks your mind out of its terrified spiral, and you feel your senses go on high alert. The sound is getting closer, and the tiny bit of your brain that hasn’t succumbed to panic identifies it as footsteps. Has he changed his mind and come back to follow through on his threat? The footsteps falter and slow as they draw closer.

“Are you alright, love?” The concern in the voice doesn’t register with you. All you know is that he’s another stranger.

You whimper, and push yourself as far as possible into the corner. He takes another step towards you, but you whimper again and the footsteps recede. You curl yourself tighter, in case he decides to come back.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, pushed protectively into the corner, before you hear more footsteps over the pounding music. There are at least two of them, and they approach you slowly. Then one of them speaks.

“Madam? I’m Sergeant Weston from Sun Hill, you’re…” You know that name; that voice. You raise your head slightly and identify two familiar figures standing a few metres from you. You see their eyes widen in shock as they recognise you, and the one behind moves forward.

“Oh crap, Millie?”

Too fast. Too close. Your mind screams at him to back off, and you push yourself into the corner, clenching yourself more tightly. His footsteps falter as she pulls him back; you hear their whispered conversation, but your brain doesn’t comprehend its meaning.

After a second, you hear one set of footsteps retreating, while the other approaches. She doesn’t come too close, though. Instead, she stops a few feet from you, and crouches down to your level. “Millie? You’re okay now, no-one’s gonna hurt you.” You know her voice. She’s a friend; she won’t hurt you. You watch her cautiously through a veil of hair as she shifts closer, but her presence is calming your frantic mind and you feel your heart rate settle somewhat. You try not to react when she reaches out a hand and lays it on your arm, but you do feel yourself tremor under her touch. “Shh, it’s okay Millie, I’m not gonna hurt you.” She shifts her position and brushes the hair away from your face.

Slowly, that little voice of reason in your head gets louder, and this time you don’t flinch when she touches you. Her hand cups your cheek – not the one _he_ touched – and she raises your head so you can see her better. You try to shy away when light from the nearby street lamp hits your eyes, but her hand stops you. “I need to see that cut on your head. It’s alright, Millie.”

You hadn’t noticed a cut. You run your fingers along your forehead, and the sudden stinging pain that ignites when you feel an irregularity on your skin brings tears to your eyes. But the pain feels good. It drowns out the terror that’s still sitting in your chest, waiting to overcome you again.

Rachel pulls your hand away gently. “Don’t touch it, Millie. It doesn’t look too deep, I don’t think it’ll need stitches.”

You hear more footsteps coming towards you down the alley, and your muscles clench themselves again. Rachel glances behind her, then looks back to you. “It’s okay, Millie, it’s just the paramedics.” She shifts slightly to the side as another figure crouches down beside her, and you hide your face in your arms again.

“What’s your name, love?” You vaguely recognise the woman; you’ve seen her at other scenes. It takes you a moment to realise she’s asked you a question, but by that time Rachel’s answered it for you.

“Her name’s Millie Brown, she’s one of my PCs.” The still-functioning part of your brain sees the recognition flash through the ambo’s eyes, but the rest of your mind is still too scared to process it.

“Are you injured anywhere, Millie?” Once again, Rachel answers the question before your thoughts slow down enough to realise it’s been asked of you.

“She has a cut on her forehead and some bruising to her wrists. Those’re the only injuries I’ve seen.”

“Okay, Millie, can you look up for me, love?” She eases your head up and you flinch away. “It’s okay, I just need to look at your head.” You sit rigidly still as she examines the wound, trembling slightly whenever she makes a move. “It doesn’t look too bad, but we’ll still have to take her to St Hugh’s to get cleaned up.” the medic announces after a minute. You stiffen; you don’t want to go anywhere. You want to stay here, curled in your corner where he can’t find you.

Rachel nods at the woman’s statement, though. “Okay. I have to call my inspector.” She stands, and your mind floods with panic. She can’t go. Please, god, don’t let her go. She starts to move away, and your hand acts without your conscious though. It reaches out and grips her wrist, and she turns back to you, startled.

“Sarge…” It’s the first word you’ve uttered since he hit you the second time, and just speaking through your torn throat brings tears to your eyes. Your voice is raw and hoarse from screaming, and the word itself is filled with pleading and terror. You don’t want her to leave you alone with another stranger.

She seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s okay, Millie. I’m just going to call the inspector, I’ll be right here. You’re alright.” She eases out of your grip, but true to her word, stays close. While she pulls out her phone and dials a number, the paramedic takes your wrist gently and examines the bruises that extend about two-thirds of the way up your forearm. Your mind has calmed considerably since they found you, but you still flinch at any loud noises from the club, or when the woman makes a move you weren’t expecting.

Eventually, the paramedic rocks back on her heels and offers you a hand. “Can you stand, Millie?” You shake your head. You don’t want to move, you want to stay curled in your corner. “Do you want me to get the gurney?” You shake your head again, wishing the woman would just leave you alone.

“Ma’am, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later with an update.” You hear Rachel end her call to the inspector, and then she’s kneeling in front of you again. “Millie, you can’t stay here. You’ll be safe at the hospital, I promise. C’mon.” Her voice is calm and reassuring, and her hands are gentle when she takes your arms to help you stand, so you don’t resist. You do flinch when the night air hits your skin through your torn shirt, though, and you hear Rachel’s sharp intake of breath. Your legs had hidden most of your body from her and the paramedic until then, and they hadn’t seen how _he_ had slashed at your top to prove his point.

After recovering from her brief shock, Rachel shrugs off her jacket and wraps it around you. You aren’t sure if she did it for the cold, or to shield your semi-naked form from prying eyes, but either way, wearing even part of your usual uniform makes you feel safer, more protected.

You realise that the effort of standing is beginning to make your legs shake. Rachel notices too, and gently takes your arm to support you as the paramedic leads you both back towards the mouth of the alley.

The end of the alley is organised chaos. There are people coming and going from the club, police swarming around looking for witnesses, and curious onlookers who have stopped to watch the show. The size of the crowd re-ignites your panic, and you shy closer to your sergeant. She wraps an arm protectively around your shoulder and guides you towards the ambulance, shaking her head at the officers who start to approach you.

Rachel helps you into the ambulance, and for a moment you panic when she doesn’t climb in after you. The paramedic notices, and is quick to reassure you. “She’s just talking to your friends out there. Don’t worry, we won’t leave without her.”

While you want to relax at her words, your body refuses to unclench until she’s proven correct and Rachel reappears beside you. You flinch as the doors slam behind her, but she sits down beside you and holds a pad of gauze over the cut on your head at the request of the paramedic. You pay only scant attention, as your mind – no longer distracted by the pain and fear – is back in the alley, reliving your ordeal.


	3. Chapter 3

After helping Millie into the ambulance, Rachel very nearly gave in to her overwhelming urge to turn and let her body sink back against the ambulance. Seeing her normally bright, cheerful constable left in that state had shaken her badly, and the temptation to find a quiet corner and simply shut out the world was, at that moment, difficult to resist. But Rachel knew that wasn’t an option; there was too much that required her attention.

She caught sight of Tony weaving his way through the crowd and waved him over. The constable had an uncharacteristically grim look on his face as he approached her. “Sarge?”

“Tony, can you call Smithy and get him to come and take over here? I have to go to the hospital.”

“Yes Sarge,” She smiled briefly at him in thanks, but he didn’t move away immediately. “Sarge…is it true Millie’s the victim?”

Rachel sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes. She’d told Arun to keep that to himself, an order the constable had obviously ignored. Tony caught the irritation in her gesture.

“Arun was pretty shook up, Sarge; I don’t think he meant to say…”

She waved away his explanation. “No, it’s okay.” The sergeant exhaled heavily again, mentally trying to keep track of the growing list of priorities in her head, a task made difficult not only by the barely controlled chaos surrounding her, but also the fact that a large portion of her mind was preoccupied with worrying about Millie.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Tony. “How bad is she, Sarge?”

“She’s….I’m not sure. Physically, she’s got some cuts and bruises. Mentally….” the sergeant trailed off, remembering the look of utter terror in Millie’s eyes when she’d grabbed Rachel’s wrist. It had taken everything the sergeant had to move away from her after that look; she had wanted desperately to embrace the frightened woman, to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Rachel shook her head, trying to get her mind back to the task at hand. There would be time for her to deal with the emotions later. Right now, she had to be a sergeant. “When Smithy gets here, would you let him know that I’ve called Inspector Gold? And get Eddie down here; get him to start processing the scene. I’ll get her clothes when we get to the hospital.”

“Yes Sarge.”

Rachel caught sight of Arun out of the corner of her eye. “And keep an eye on Arun for me. Make sure he’s coping.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Sarge. You just go make sure Millie’s okay.”

She smiled gratefully at him before climbing into the ambulance. Tony shut the door behind her, causing Millie to flinch violently. The red-haired PC visibly relaxed, though, when her eyes landed on Rachel, who moved quickly to sit beside her as the paramedic told the driver to go.

Once they were moving, the paramedic handed Rachel a pad of gauze and asked her to tend to Millie’s head wound. Having seen the constable’s reaction to anyone other than her, Rachel complied without an argument.

As they drew closer to the hospital, Rachel became more concerned with Millie’s lack of response. The constable hadn’t moved since the ambulance had left the scene, and her eyes were glassy, staring beyond the sergeant at something only she could see. She hadn’t flinched when Rachel has cleaned the wound on her forehead, and her unresponsiveness had continued throughout the journey.

In fact, the only reaction she gave for the remainder of the drive was when the paramedic offered her a blanket in place of Rachel’s jacket. Millie had shaken her head vigorously and pulled the dark material more tightly around her body, pressing herself against the seat she was sitting in. The paramedic, surprised by the force of Millie’s reaction, backed off, and Rachel was content not to push the issue. The angry red lines of shallow knife wounds under the shredded remains of the constable’s shirt weren’t something she wanted to see again if she could help it.

Once the ambulance arrived at St Hugh’s, the paramedic quickly climbed out, leaving it to Rachel to persuade Millie to follow her. The constable still seemed absent and unaware of what was going on around her, and at first she didn’t respond when Rachel softly called her name. When the sergeant laid a hand on her shoulder, however, she jumped and her eyes refocused, scanning wildly around before settling on Rachel.

“We’re at the hospital, Millie. Let’s get you inside, okay?” Rachel helped the frightened woman out of the ambulance, then guided her towards the entrance to A&E where the paramedic was waiting.

She led the two officers to a private room, something Rachel was grateful for. Millie hadn’t reacted well to the packed emergency room, shying towards her sergeant every time someone came within a few feet of her, and Rachel knew she’d cope far better away from the crowds. The paramedic left, then returned a few moments later with a nurse and a doctor, both female, who set about examining the constable. Rachel made the usual request for Millie’s clothing to be preserved as evidence, and the nurse left, then reappeared with a standard-issue hospital gown.

Millie exchanged most of her clothing without any reaction, but again refused to give up Rachel’s jacket, wrapping it around herself over the hospital gown. The nurse wasn’t happy about it, but since it was unlikely to have any forensics on it, Rachel had no problem letting the constable keep it for the time being. She’d stayed with Millie while she’d changed, at the constable’s request, and after seeing the thin cuts that littered her body and the scenario they suggested, the sergeant was happy to give Millie anything that provided her even a modicum of security.

After a while, the nurses left the two officers alone with orders that Rachel was to let Millie rest. Millie sat on the edge of the bed in a position similar to when Rachel had found her, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She hadn’t spoken a word the entire time, instead answering the nurse and doctor with a nod or shake of her head. They had concluded that physically, the constable had no major injuries, just bruises and cuts, and that the wounds to her torso would heal in time with little scarring. Mentally, however, they weren’t so sure. They’d told the sergeant that Millie was probably in shock, and they’d held off on doing the more invasive tests until she was more stable. They’d requested that Rachel stay with her, saying that it was unwise for Millie to be alone, and the constable would be far more comfortable with someone she knew and trusted. They’d given Millie a sedative to help her sleep, but had warned Rachel that it might take a little while to kick in. Then they’d left.

The silence stretched on for what felt like hours, interrupted only by the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. Rachel knew she should call Smithy or the inspector and tell them what was happening, but she was unwilling to leave Millie alone in her current state. The constable was still lost in the memory of what happened, and Rachel was at a loss for what to say. The things she’d been taught to say, the platitudes they’d said you were supposed to offer to victims seemed hollow and insincere, especially considering Millie had been taught exactly the same phrases. Eventually though, the sight of Millie sitting there with that vacant, empty look in her normally cheerful eyes became unbearable. The sergeant had seen that look in the eyes of far too many victims, and associating Millie with them was making her stomach lurch.

Rachel moved slowly from her position near the door to sit on the bed beside Millie. Close enough for comfort, but not so close that Millie felt crowded. The sergeant was still at a loss for what to say, so she stuck to the basics. “Millie? How’re you feeling?” Rachel inwardly winced at the inadequacy of that question, though the constable barely reacted at all.

After a few moments, Millie turned her head slowly and looked directly at her sergeant. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “Sarge, I didn’t…I couldn’t…” Tears began rolling down her face as she struggled to control her voice. “He grabbed me and I couldn’t…” She broke off as sobs wracked her body, and Rachel gave up on trying to stay away. She shuffled closer to the constable, and slid an arm around her shoulder, slowly enough that Millie could pull away if she wanted. She didn’t though, just buried her face in Rachel’s shoulder. They stayed like that, with Rachel softly murmuring comforting sounds, until Millie’s body stilled as the sedatives kicked in. 


	4. Chapter 4

The next few hours are a jumble of disjointed images and half-formed impressions, and at times, you’re not sure if you’re asleep or awake. You see things through a fog: a haze of colour and music and movement; a room full of figures in black and white; a warm hand covering your own. And hovering above it all, a face. _His_ face. Burned into your mind by fear.

Eventually, you feel yourself gradually swimming back into consciousness. The first thing you’re aware of is the sound of voices, familiar and comforting. Then, as you shift your weight, you feel a stinging pain from the general area of your torso, then your throat as you swallow. You blearily open your eyes, but close them again quickly and groan as the harsh light stabs into them. Your fleeting look showed you two figures – one standing, one sitting – at the end of what you realise is your hospital bed. Your thoughts feel heavy and slow, as does your hand when you lift it to rub your watering eyes. 

At your soft groan, the two figures stop talking, and you hear them come closer to you. You feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you lightly. The touch is gentle, but that doesn’t stop you flinching under it. “Millie? Can you hear me? Go and get a nurse.” You don’t think that last part was directed at you. You hear one of the figures walk away, and the sound of the door opening. “Millie, can you open your eyes for me?”

You do as she asks, because she’s your sergeant and you’re supposed to. The first thing you see is her face, full of concern, hovering over you. For one frightening moment, _his_ face is juxtaposed with hers, and you recoil slightly in fear. But then she smiles, and the illusion is broken.

“It’s okay, Millie, you’re in the hospital; you’re safe. Your sister, Katie, is here; she’s just gone to get a nurse. They sedated you, so you’ll probably feel a bit groggy for a while.”

As she speaks, you try to sit up, but her hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Try not to move too much, you might reopen the cuts.” You reflexively look down to see what she’s talking about, but you can’t see through the gown. However, as you catch sight of the dark police jacket you’re still wearing, the reality of what happened to you last night suddenly comes crashing down.

The rhythm of beeps that represent your pulse increase as the heart monitor responds to your fear. You sit up rapidly, ignoring the stinging pain from your abdomen, and shift your gaze back to the woman beside you as your stomach churns. “Sarge, I… _he_ …” Your voice is raspy, barely recognisable as your own, and the sting in your throat when you talk brings tears to your eyes.

She slides her hand from your shoulder to your back and moves closer to you as you begin to tremble. “It’s okay, Millie, you don’t need to tell me yet. You’re safe now, just try to relax.” Yet despite her calming words and tone, you still instinctively shy closer to her when the door opens to admit Katie and a nurse.

The nurse looks reproachfully at Rachel as she approaches your bedside. “Sergeant, I know she’s your constable, but if you’re going to agitate her you’ll have to leave. She needs to rest.”

You shake your head at the thought of the sergeant leaving as she apologises. The nurse sniffs disapprovingly as she checks your vital signs then disconnects the heart monitor, but makes no other comment. Then she informs you that you should be able to go home later that evening and leaves with another firm reminder that you needed to rest.

Only after the nurse has gone does your sister approach you. She stops at the side of your bed and cautiously reaches for your hand. “Hiya, Mia.” You smile slightly at your mother’s childhood nickname for you, and you feel your heartbeat return to normal. “How’re you feeling, babe?”

You shrug and look down at your joined hands. “I’m okay.” You glance back up at Katie and notice that her face is arranged in its ‘don’t bullshit me’ expression. You forgot that she could always tell when you were lying. But how do you describe what you’re feeling to her when you’re having trouble describing it to yourself? You decide to stick with the basics, and look back down at your hands. “I hurt.”

You feel Rachel tense up through the hand that’s still resting on your back, and you look up at her just in time to see a spark of anger flash through her eyes. As Katie moves closer to you and wraps her arms around you, Rachel moves away, towards where her vest, hat and equipment belt lie in a pile on the floor near the end of your bed. She crouches down and rummages through it briefly before extracting her mobile. “I should go and call the station; let them know you’re awake.” Your fear must show in your eyes, because she squeezes your hand gently. “It won’t take long. You’ll be fine.” She squeezes your hand again, then releases it and hurries out of the room.

You watch the door swing shut behind her and take a deep breath, attempting to suppress your irrational panic. You’ve seen others react this way, clinging to the first person to comfort them after an attack, but knowing why you want your sergeant to stay so badly doesn’t stop the fear that creeps into your stomach when she doesn’t.

Katie draws back after a moment, and you feel her eyes on you. You can tell she wants to ask about what happened, but when she stays silent you realise that Rachel probably warned her not to. Something you’re grateful for; you’ve been trying not to think about it since you woke up. You shift uncomfortably under your sister’s gaze, and she finally speaks.

“Do you want to get changed? I brought some of your clothes.” She gestures to a bag sitting on a chair in the corner that you hadn’t noticed. “I met your flatmate, too. She said she feels guilty as hell for leaving you at the club.”

You shake your head as you shuffle out of the bed. That wasn’t right; she shouldn’t feel guilty. It was your own stupid fault, not hers.

You stand tentatively, ensuring your legs will support you before putting your weight on them fully. Once you’re satisfied you’re not going to collapse, you move over to where Katie is retrieving your clothes from the bag.

You pull the pants on under the gown first, before reluctantly taking off Rachel’s jacket and laying it over the back of the chair. You feel a rush of cold that’s only partly to do with the temperature, and hastily raise your arms to pull the gown off. As you do, however, the harsh white light throws the rainbow of bruises on your arm into sharp relief. It’s the first time you’ve seen them properly, and for a minute you stand transfixed by the patterns they’ve created on your skin, feeling the nausea rising in your throat.

“Millie?”

You snap out of it as Katie says your name, and continue what you were doing, almost ripping the hospital gown from your body, revealing a white bandage wrapped around your abdomen. You stare at it, curious as to what’s under it but at the same time afraid to find out. Katie nudges you with the shirt she’s holding and you look up, catching sight of your reflection in the darkened window. You don’t recognise yourself at first, seeing instead a pale stranger staring back at you with wide eyes.

You take a step towards the reflection, unable to accept that it’s you. She looks too small, too vulnerable. You start to tremble as she mimics your actions, and your brain accepts that she really is you. You start to back away from that pale figure, causing you to bump into Katie. She turns, and sees your reaction to what you’re seeing.

“Oh, Millie…” 

She wraps her arms around you, turning you so you’re not facing the window. She holds you for a while, then steps back and hands you your shirt. You tug it on over your head, hiding the bandage from view, then reach for the police jacket.

You pull Rachel’s jacket on over the short-sleeved shirt, telling yourself that it’s to hide the bruises on your arms, not because you’re still relying on the comfort that wearing part of the usually cumbersome uniform is affording you. Katie gives you a strange look as you wrap the dark material around yourself, but she doesn’t say anything.

You settle back into the bed as your sister drapes the hospital gown over the chair in the corner. Then she comes back and sits on the bed beside you.

“Budge up, babe.” Katie nudges you slightly and you feel a small smile creep onto your face as you shift over in the bed, allowing her to lie next to you like you did when you were children if one of you was hurt or scared. It’s appropriate, because right now, you’re both.

You stay like that, not talking, just taking comfort in Katie’s presence until a woman pushes through the door. She introduces herself to you as your doctor, then sets about checking your wounds. She checks the cut on your head and the bruises on your wrists first, before asking permission to check the cuts on your body. You nod hesitantly, and she reassures you that she won’t do anything you don’t want her to as she gently lifts the hem of your shirt and unwinds the bandage that wraps around your stomach.

You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, and Katie takes your hand. At first, you focus your eyes on the far side of the room, trying to gather the courage to look down and see what _he_ inflicted on you. But at Katie’s soft gasp, you look down instinctively. And then wish you hadn’t.

Your abdomen is covered in dozens of angry red lines marring your once-perfect skin. Some of the larger cuts are pulled together by steri-strips, but most are uncovered. You feel bile rise in your throat, but you’re unable to look away from the almost hypnotic pattern they form across your stomach. _He_ marked you, just as he said he would. As that realisation hits you, your stomach heaves violently. “I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter quickly, before clamping your mouth shut and swallowing to try to stop it. The doctor reacts quickly, but still only just manages to get a pan in front of you before the bile burns its way up your throat. You dry retch a few more times, but your stomach is empty.

Katie hands you a cup of water from your beside table as the doctor wraps a fresh bandage around your body. “The cuts are healing well. Most of them probably won’t scar, but try to keep them clean and don’t scratch. I want to keep you in for a few more hours for observation, just to make sure that cut on your head hasn’t left any nasty surprises, but after that you should be good to go. Try and get some sleep, okay? Get the nurse to page me if you have any questions.”

You nod, then clear your throat. “When can I go back to work?”

You almost feel Katie roll her eyes as the doctor answers. “Barring any complications from the head trauma, you should be fine to go back in a couple of days, as long as you take it easy.”

You nod and thank her before you slide back down the bed, wriggling slightly to find a comfortable position as the doctor leaves. Katie lies beside you again, and slides her arm under your shoulders in a kind of half hug, mimicking the way you used to hold her when she had nightmares. The warmth of the embrace almost lulls you to sleep, but Katie’s voice rouses you after a few minutes.

You feel her fingers tracing the numbers on the epaulette of the jacket. “Hang on, stripes means Sergeant, right? You get a promotion you forgot to tell me about, Mils?”

You smile and shake your head at her question. “It’s not mine, it’s my sergeant’s.”

“Well the stripes suit you, that’s all I’m saying.”

You smile again, and fall back into a comfortable silence before you slowly drift to sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

After she left Millie’s room, Rachel headed down to the ground floor and out the front, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator in the hope that the walking might calm her somewhat. The reason she’d given for leaving the constable’s room had been true, but not complete. Seeing Millie – usually bright, cheerful Millie – left for dead in that alleyway had ignited a burning anger in the sergeant, an anger that had only grown when she’d seen the extent of her constable’s injuries. Rachel had done her best to hide her fury, remembering the nurses’ stern warnings about Millie needing to rest, as well as being mindful of the need to appear professional in front of Katie, but the sergeant had spent much of the time the constable was unconscious pacing restlessly around the room.

_“I hurt.”_

Those two, simple words had been the tipping point. Hearing the constable sum up the entirety of what she must be feeling with those five letters had been like a knife to the gut, and the sergeant had known she had to get out of the room before her calm façade crumbled.

Rachel sunk down on a bench just outside the entrance and leant forward, resting her head in her hands. She uncovered her eyes briefly to check her watch, and noted that her shift had ended several hours ago, which would explain the undercurrent of weariness that was flowing beneath her anger. She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes slowly, trying to relax.

Once Rachel felt she’d calmed down sufficiently, she retrieved her phone from her pocket and dialled Gina Gold’s number. She gave the inspector a brief recap of what the doctors had told her, and informed her that Millie was awake. Gina told her she’d send someone from CID over, then, after extracting assurances from Rachel that the sergeant was okay, hung up.

As she slipped her phone back into her pocket, Rachel caught sight of a streak of blood on her sleeve that she hadn’t noticed before. Millie’s blood. The sergeant stared down at it for a moment, entranced by the stark contrast of red on white, before she began scratching at it with her thumbnail. There wasn’t any real enthusiasm in the movement; it was more something to do with her hands while her thoughts took over her concentration, which itself was just a distraction from the helpless anger she was feeling on her constable’s behalf.

The sergeant wasn’t sure how long she sat like that before two familiar voices floated to her ears. She glanced up to see two equally familiar figures striding across the car park. She stood as Max and Jo caught sight of her, and shook the sleeve of her jumper down over the cuff of her shirt so it hid the blood as they approached. She frowned inwardly as they exchanged greetings; Max’s lack of sensitivity was well documented, but someone had obviously thought he was the right choice so Rachel let it go.

“How is she?” Jo questioned, once they’d begun to walk toward Millie’s room.

“Shaken.” Rachel did her best to disconnect, to try to pretend that this was just another victim. “She doesn’t have any major injuries, and the rape kit showed no signs of sexual assault.” Both her colleagues let out a quiet breath of relief at that. Rachel didn’t blame them; that had been her reaction as well. “Do we know what it was yet? Mugging gone wrong?”

Jo shook her head. “Eddie says he found her mobile and wallet at the scene, there was still money in it.”

“We’re hoping Millie can shed some light on this, ‘coz at the moment, we don’t have much to go on,” Max added, and Rachel had the sudden and unexpected urge to protest questioning the constable so soon, but her logical side quickly overrode it. They needed to find out what happened, the sooner the better.

“You look exhausted, Sarge, if you don’t mind me saying,” Jo commented as they rode the elevator up to the appropriate floor. “Have you been here since they brought her in?”

“Yeah.”  Rachel had been unwilling to leave the constable, even after her sister had shown up, until she was satisfied that Millie really was okay. She saw Jo check her watch then shoot her a surprised look out of the corner of her eye, and was thankful that they drew up outside Millie’s room before the inquisitive DC could ask any more questions. That interrogation would have led to questions about what motivated her apparent dedication, and Rachel had yet to answer that to herself, let alone anyone else.

“This is it.” Rachel stopped outside the door to her constable’s room and peered in through the window. Katie was lying next to Millie on the bed with an arm around her shoulders. The PC appeared to be sleeping, but her sister was staring up at the ceiling with a murderous expression.

“Her sister Katie is with her,” Rachel told the two CID officers. “She’s angry, so tread carefully.” She wanted to add more, to tell them to be gentle with her constable, but she bit it back. They knew what they were doing.

The sergeant pushed slowly through the door, trying not to startle Millie, but her eyes shot open at the noise and she shied away from the newcomers. She seemed to shrink under the detective’s scrutiny, and she refused to meet their eye. Rachel noted that, while she had changed out of the hospital gown, the constable was still wearing the police jacket she’d wrapped around her at the scene, and that filled the sergeant with a number of emotions. The main one was renewed anger towards the bastard who had done that to the good-natured woman, but there were also a number of others she felt too drained to analyse.

Katie gently extracted her arm from around Millie’s shoulder and sat up, hiding her sister from view. “Who’re they?” Her question was aimed at Rachel, and her voice held a trace of protective hostility.

“Katie, this is DS Max Carter and DC Jo Masters. They work at Sun Hill with us.” Rachel turned to the detectives as they both moved to shake Katie’s hand. “This is Katie Brown, Millie’s sister.”

Katie eyed them for a moment before shifting from her protective stance, allowing the officers to see Millie. The constable shifted uncomfortably under their gaze as Jo moved forward. Max began to follow her, but Rachel stopped him with a hand on his arm, remembering how Millie had reacted to Arun when they’d found her.

“Millie, how’re you feeling?” Jo questioned as she drew closer. Millie answered with a non-committal shrug, and Max shuffled forward slightly.

“Katie, why don’t you and me go grab a coffee?” Katie eyed him suspiciously, and she looked unwilling to leave her sister. But Millie murmured something in her ear, and she reluctantly slid off the bed.

“Fine. But you’re paying.”

Jo shot Max an amused glance as he led Katie from the room, then moved to sit in the chair at Millie’s bedside. “Do you think you’re up to taking us through what happened, sweetheart?”

Millie nodded, and Rachel moved around the bed to stand beside her, surprised by the fierce protectiveness she felt for her constable. “We can do it another time, if you don’t feel up to it.”

The woman on the bed shook her head gently. “No, I’m fine.” Despite her words, she still drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, before taking a deep breath, then beginning to speak in a low monotone. That detached tone in her voice and the hollow look in her eye made the story she told that much more haunting.

**…**

Her flatmate had dragged her out to the Andromeda Bar to celebrate a friend’s promotion. She had met some friends from school there, and spent most of the night with them. Shortly before they’d left, though, she’d met him. He told her his name was Jake, and he had been charming at first. He had seemed genuinely interested in her. They’d moved to the quietest corner of the club they could find, and spent almost an hour talking comfortably, and she hadn’t noticed the number of drinks he’d bought her. Eventually, nature called, and she made her way towards the bathrooms at the back of the club. Jake met her in the corridor on the way back, and it was there that it went wrong.

He’d told her that he hadn’t been completely honest with her, and that he was sorry because she seemed like a really nice girl.

She had started to look around for an escape route at that point, but the alcohol she’d consumed was making it difficult for her to focus as he continued.

He explained that he was asked to come and talk to her by a guy. He said he’d wanted Jake to get her to go out to the alley, and that he was very keen to talk to her.

That had put her sense on high alert, but by then it was too late. The alcohol had dulled her reflexes, and before she could react, he had grabbed her and started dragging her towards the door that led to the alley. His hand had clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams, and his hands held her in a vice-like grip that she couldn’t escape from, no matter how much she struggled.

He managed to drag her to a fire door that led outside. He pulled her further down the alley, away from the street, and she heard another set of footsteps over the muffled music from the club.

 _He_ had congratulated Jake on a job well done. Her training, rational thought, everything deserted her as pure terror flooded her veins when she heard _him._ She’d fought harder to escape, but Jake was taller and stronger than her.

Then she stopped struggling as she noticed the gleam of a knife in _his_ hand. Jake had protested when he saw the knife, saying that he’d had promised he wouldn’t hurt her, but he reassured him that it was just insurance.

He stopped in front of her and ran a finger down her cheek, and she made another effort to shake Jake off her. _He_ had warned her to stop struggling as he gripped her arm, ignoring the shudder that went through her body as he touched her. Then he told Jake that his services were no longer required.

Jake had hesitantly let her go, and she tried to push herself away from both of them. His grip on her arm had been too strong, though, and he pulled her back towards him and pressed the knife to her skin as Jake almost ran to the mouth of the alley and disappeared.

He had warned her again to stop struggling, and pressed the blade against her skin to prove his point. She had plead with him to let her go, ignoring the slap across her cheek and the warning to be quiet. Then he had lost his temper.

He’d slapped her again, hard, and this time let her fall against the dumpster behind her, where she struck her head. She’d stumbled, woozy, and he’d caught her again and pushed her to the ground.

She struggled as he hovered over her, but stilled as he’d slid the flat of the blade along her throat.

“I could have you, my rose,” he’d told her, and his hand had strayed to her belt. “But memories fade. Scars never fade. I will mark you, my rose.” Then he had shifted his weight, pinning her down with a knee across her thighs and an arm across her throat.

**…**

Millie began to sob at that point in the retelling, making her words almost unintelligible, but the implication was clear. Sometime during the story, Rachel had sat down beside Millie on the bed, and now she took advantage of that position to pull Millie into a hug that the constable didn’t resist.

“Shh, Millie, it’s alright.” Rachel could feel Millie shaking as she held her, and when the door opened suddenly, she jumped so violently she almost fell off the bed.

“You said you weren’t gonna upset her!” Katie rushed into the room, followed by Max, and moved to sit on the other side of her sister. She brushed the hair from her face and gripped her hand, and Millie raised her head from where she’d buried it in her sergeant’s shirt.

Her sobs reduced to hitching breaths, and Millie spoke again. “I’m fine; I’m sorry, I just…He…”

“It’s okay, Millie, we can do the rest later,” Jo reassured her. Katie turned her head to glare at both detectives, who got the unspoken message. “We should let you get some rest. We’ll keep you in the loop, yeah?”

Millie nodded, and Jo stood.

“Do you need a lift back to the station, Rachel?” Max offered as both CID officers moved towards the door.

Rachel looked between the detectives and Millie, reluctant to leave the constable but unable to think up a justification for staying. Her emotions and logic were at war in her head. On the one hand, she wanted to stay and see for herself that her constable was okay, but her logical side was telling her that the best thing she could do for Millie was to get back to the station and catch the son of a bitch that did this to her.

Eventually, logic won – if only just – but she couldn’t leave without being sure. “Will you be okay?” she questioned her constable. “I have to get back to work.”

Millie nodded mutely, but Rachel caught the flash of fear in her eyes as she stood. The sergeant squeezed her shoulder gently, then followed Max and Jo out of the room before her resolve weakened.

“You sure you’re alright, Sarge?” Jo questioned her as Rachel paused outside the room to rub a hand across her eyes.

Rachel looked up and smiled wearily as she started walking again. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Rachel felt totally drained as she followed the detectives back to their car. She knew she should feel better now that they had something to go on, a target for her anger, but instead the sergeant just felt numb.

She dropped into the back seat and let her head fall back against the headrest as Jo relayed to Max what Millie had said. The detectives began exchanging theories as they drove back to the station, but Rachel tuned them out. She felt too tired to theorise, and trying to marshal her thoughts into any sort of order felt beyond her. When they realised that she wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation, Max and Jo lowered their voices, allowing the sergeant to slip into a mindless haze that was probably the closest thing she was going to get to sleep for a while.


	6. Chapter 6

The doctor, true to her word, returns a few hours later with your discharge papers. She insists on checking you over one more time before letting you sign them, and leaves you with some painkillers and a stern warning to take it easy, and to come back in if you feel light-headed or nauseous.

Once all the necessary forms are filled out, Katie escorts you from the room and down to her car. You do your best to ignore the strange looks you get on the way, knowing they’re probably due to what you’re wearing, but the scrutiny does make you decidedly uncomfortable. You feel yourself flinch towards your sister if anyone other than her gets too close, despite your attempts to keep still, and while you know that an exaggerated startle reflex is common after what you went through, you still wish your body would stop displaying your lingering fear so blatantly. You hate that you can’t prevent it; every involuntary twitch feels like another shred of control that he took from you.

You’re relieved when you finally reach Katie’s car, and you quickly climb into the passenger’s seat. You feel far more secure once the door closes, shutting out the rest of the world.

You twitch slightly when Katie opens the driver’s side door and drops into the seat, but she doesn’t react to it. She slides the key into the ignition, but doesn’t turn it. “Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while? I can tell my boyfriend to clear off for a couple of weeks, he’ll understand.”

While you appreciate her offer, you decline politely. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to inconvenience anybody, but deep down you know it’s because you need the comfort of familiarity right now. Katie seems to recognise that on some level, and doesn’t push you to accept her offer.

The drive to your flat is silent, and you spend most of the trip watching the last of the sunlight fade from the horizon. You wince occasionally as the seat belt presses against your stomach, but the painkillers they gave you haven’t worn off yet, so it’s more uncomfortable than painful.

Katie pulls up outside your flat, and it takes you a moment to gather the courage to open the door and get out into the world again. You’d felt safe in the car; your little _him_ -free bubble.

By the time you get out, Katie’s collected your bag from the boot and is waiting for you. She doesn’t mention your hesitation, just wraps an arm around your waist and guides you towards the front door.

It’s not until you reach the door to your flat that you realise you don’t know where your keys are. Or the rest of the things you left in the club, for that matter. You look around a Katie, and she realises why you’ve stopped.

“Oh, keys. Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got the spare you gave me.” She rummages through her handbag briefly and extracts a set of keys. “That sergeant woman, Rachel? She said they found your stuff in the club, but it’s evidence.”

You nod mechanically, trying to suppress the strange feeling in your stomach at your possessions being ‘evidence’ as Katie unlocks the door and steps aside to let you in.

You’re just through the door when a movement in the corner of your eye makes you jump. But it’s just your flatmate, Kelly, coming towards you.

“Mille! My god, are you okay?” She stops when she sees your face and the bruises and cuts that adorn it, but then continues forward at a slower pace. She reaches out a hand, as if to draw you into a hug, but stops short of actually touching you.

You’re pleasantly surprised, however, to find that she apparently falls under the category of ‘people your body isn’t afraid of’, and you step forward, pulling her into the embrace she was reluctant to initiate.

“Millie, I’m so sorry I left you!” She cries into your shoulder. “I thought you were with your friends, if I’d known…”

“It’s okay, Kel. Honest. It wasn’t your fault.” You can’t let her keep feeling guilty. It wasn’t her fault, it was yours.

Her expression when you draw apart tells you that while she accepts your forgiveness, she still feels responsible. “Yeah, um, anyway, I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days tomorrow. My dad’s not well. Katie’s welcome to my room while I’m gone, I’ll change the sheet before I leave.”

Katie starts nodding before Kelly has finished speaking, which makes you think that this arrangement had been pre-discussed, but you feel too drained to call them on it so you just nod.

You leave them to sort out the details and head to your room. You close the door behind yourself, then turn and lean against it. It’s the first time you’ve been alone since Rachel found you, and you take a minute to get a grip on your suddenly active fight-or-flight reflex, breathing in and out slowly.

Once you feel yourself calm down, you hunt out your pyjamas and begin to change into them. You’re reluctant to remove the police jacket again, but you lay it at the end of the bed before you climb in, keeping it close. You’re not sure what it is about the dark item of clothing that eases your fear, but at this point, you’re willing to take any comfort you can get.

Just as you’re slipping under the covers, a knock on the door makes you jump, and it opens slowly. “Millie?” It’s Katie. “You going to bed already?”

You nod. Even though it’s relatively early, you feel drained.

“Well, I’ll be out on the couch if you need anything, babe. Sleep well.”

You smile and thank her as she flicks off the light. The instant she shuts the door and blocks out any remaining light, however, you know you won’t be able to sleep and you call her back. “Katie? Could you leave the door open a bit? And the light on out there?” She smiles in understanding, and does as you ask.

You shuffle back under the covers as she disappears from view again, and you close your eyes. Sleep, however, eludes you, for you find that even though you were struggling to keep your eyes open only moments ago, now you’re restless and unable to keep still. You twitch at every tiny sound, and when you open your eyes again, you find that – while they’re better than the total darkness of before – the shadows cast by the light of the hallway loom over you, making your heart race.

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, flinching at every sound, you reach down and draw your sergeant’s jacket up to rest over your torso above the covers. It helps a little, but it’s still takes a long time for you to settle.

You eventually drift off to sleep, but unlike the slumber at the hospital, which were induced by drugs or sheer exhaustion, this sleep is plagued by nightmares. Each time you wake, screaming and struggling to escape him, brings Katie rushing into your room, though after the third time, she gives up on the couch and simply slips under the covers with you. Her closeness comforts you, but it still doesn’t stop him stalking through your dreams, his face growing more and more demonic each time.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the familiar sound of the gates opening that woke Rachel from her reverie. She blinked and shook her head gently as Max guided the car to a stop between two IRVs, then followed him and Jo across the yard, trying to shake her mind back into wakefulness. Once they got inside, the detectives disappeared upstairs while Rachel went to the locker room to change out of her bloodstained shirt. She lingered there briefly, lowering herself onto a bench and rubbing a hand down her face, once again resisting the urge to crawl into a corner and block out the world. She stayed like that until the sound of a door slamming jerked her thoughts back to the present. Rachel shook her head gently as she rose and checked her appearance in the mirror, fixing her tie and ensuring that her sergeant mask was back in place before leaving the room. Then, on a hunch, she went looking for Arun.

She found him with Roger in one of the writing rooms, watching CCTV from the Andromeda Bar. The younger constable was rubbing his eyes when the sergeant entered, but when he saw Rachel, he stood.

“Sarge. How’s Millie?”

“She’ll be okay. She’s being discharged in a few hours, and her sister’s with her. Have you got anything from the CCTV yet?”

“Nothing yet, Sarge.” He sat down again, and unfroze the image of the street in front of the club. “This is from a council camera across the street; it shows the entrance to the alley. There’s no coverage of where the attack took place, but we’re hoping we might see someone leaving. The crowds are making it hard, though.” His voice faltered as he said ‘attack’, and when he rubbed his eyes again, Rachel realised that he’d been on shift since the previous evening. There were four empty coffee cups sitting beside the computer he was working at, and Rachel could tell from the slightly glazed look in his eyes that he was worn-out.

“Arun, why don’t you go home, get some rest.”

“I’m fine, Sarge.”

“If you exhaust yourself, you’ll be no good to anyone. Go home and sleep.” That time it was closer to an order than a suggestion, and Arun seemed to realise that. He started to protest again, but Rachel held up a hand to halt him before pointing towards the door. She felt slightly hypocritical sending him home when she had no intention of following her own advice, but looking after her constables was her job. Her welfare, on the other hand, was hers to ignore as she wished.

“I’ve been trying to get him to leave for ages,” Roger commented as the door swung shut behind Arun. “He’s been yawning every thirty seconds for the past hour.”

“How long has he been here?”

Roger shrugged. “Not sure, Sarge. Stone kicked him off cordon duty around lunchtime, and he’s been hiding from the inspector since then. He’s been dodging her since she sent the rest of the nightshift home. She had to twist a few arms to manage that.”

Rachel made a mental note to avoid Gina as she dropped the empty coffee cups Arun had left behind in the bin.

“Maybe you should go home too, Sarge,” Roger suggested. “You’ve been on shift as long as Arun has.”

She shook her head lightly, suppressing a yawn. “I’m fine. What’ve you got?” She moved to stand behind him so she could see his screen, where he had the CCTV of the interior of the Andromeda Bar. The current shot covered the bar and part of the dance floor.

“I’ve got Millie entering the club with an unidentified female just after nine.”

Rachel nodded. “Her flatmate. CID are looking for her.”

Roger made a note on the pad of paper in front of him, then continued. “Millie stays with her for a while, then joins this group.” He pointed to a group of women standing by the bar. “Then they move to the dance floor and we lose her in the crowd.” He rewound and paused the recording before swivelling to look up at the sergeant.

“She said she met some friends from school, and just before they left she was approached by another guy,” Rachel told him. “They got talking, and she spent almost an hour with him before he forced her out to the alley where he handed her to a second, as yet unidentified male.”

Roger flinched slightly, but Rachel surprised herself with how detached she sounded as she described Millie’s ordeal. She stared at the image on the monitor. Millie was laughing at her flatmate, who was playfully dragging her towards the dance floor. Her expression was full of joy, and it made Rachel sick to think that just hours after that carefree moment, the young constable would be curled in an alley, bruised, bleeding and terrified.

“So we’re looking for that man and anyone who might be able to ID him,” Rachel finished, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.

Roger nodded and unfroze the image as Rachel moved over towards the other computer and sunk into Arun’s vacated chair. She leant forward for a moment and covered her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes and trying to ignore how good it felt to close them, how easy it would be to stay like that and just drift away….

“You sure you don’t wanna go home, Sarge?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmured for what felt like the hundredth time, shaking herself back to alertness.

The older constable studied her for a moment, then seemed to resign himself to her stubbornness as she began tapping at the keyboard, rewinding the recording. “Do you want a coffee?”

**…**

About half an hour later, the inspector finally caught up with Rachel as the sergeant was on her way back from the bathroom. “Oi. What’re you still doing here?”

Rachel was half way through a yawn when she asked, so her answer was incomprehensible.

“What?”

“Sorry, Ma’am. I’m going over the CCTV with Roger.”

“Have you had any sleep since yesterday?” There was concern in the inspector’s eyes as she asked.

“I slept at the hospital,” Rachel lied, trying to keep the fatigue she felt from her face and tone.

Judging by the perceptive look on Gina’s face, she hadn’t succeeded. “You should go home, Rachel. You look terrible. And I mean that in the nicest possible way,” she added as the sergeant smiled wryly. “You need sleep. You’ll be no use to anyone, especially Millie, if you’re exhausted.” The way she said it suggested Gina had had this argument several times already, and the fact that she herself had used that exact line on Arun was not lost on the sergeant.

“No, Ma’am, I’m fine, honest…” Rachel’s protests were cut off by yet another yawn, and the inspector rolled her eyes.

“I rest my case. Get changed and I’ll find someone to take you home; you’re in no state to drive.”

**…**

With nothing to focus her remaining energy on, Rachel quickly succumbed to the crushing wave of exhaustion looming over her, and looking back later, she couldn’t remember who had driven her home that evening. He – she was fairly sure it had been a he – had walked her to her door, ignoring her fatigued protests. He’d told her he’d get someone to drop her car back later, then, after extracting an assurance that she didn’t need a babysitter, he’d left, leaving Rachel to stagger upstairs to her bedroom.

She changed out of her clothes mechanically before climbing into bed. She lay there, staring up at the faint pattern of shadows on ceiling and feeling the weariness tug at her eyelids, but unable to clear her mind enough to sleep. When she did eventually succumb to the exhaustion, the sleep was restless, and her dreams were filled with shadowy figures, some taunting her and others crying for help.

**…**

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

Rachel glanced up from her computer screen as Smithy took a seat at the desk opposite hers and smiled grimly. “Depends on how you define ‘sleep’.” She’d woken feeling like her eyes were made of sandpaper, and she was sure she didn’t look much better than she felt. “Where are we at?” She asked, ignoring the concern in his eyes.

“We got a screen grab of our suspect from the club, but we never get a good enough angle to run it through facial recognition. He’s talking to a barman, though, so we were about to head over to the club and see if any of the staff recognise him.”

The blonde sergeant nodded, trying to process the rapid influx of information through the haze of fatigue as Smithy slid the photos across the desks to her.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Rachel glanced at him, surprised. She was sure that, under the circumstances, CID would’ve insisted that uniform have no involvement in the case, but the detectives had either not got around to telling them that, or Smithy – and therefore, the inspector – had decided to ignore them. Either way, Rachel nodded and followed her colleague to the yard, fumbling slightly with the clip of her belt and the zipper of her vest. If Smithy noticed her less-than-coordinated movements, he didn’t mention it.

**…**

The scene the two sergeants pulled up to was wildly different to the one Rachel had arrived at two nights ago. The Andromeda bar looked different in the light of day, less dangerous. Seeing it in the sunlight seemed wrong somehow, and neon signs that looked good at night now just seemed tacky. The image was made even more incongruous by the crime scene tape stretched across the mouth of the alley, and CSE van still parked out the front.

Rachel paused as they passed the entrance to the alley and watched the figures dressed in blue who were doing a final sweep of the area for any evidence they may have missed. In her mind’s eye, she saw the scenario Millie had described play out in front of her, and she felt the anger and bile rise in her throat once more.

“Hey, you alright?”

Rachel was jolted out of her reverie by Smithy, who had noticed she wasn’t following him and had come back to check on her. The blonde sergeant nodded and started walking again, inwardly shaking herself and muttering the phrase that was quickly becoming her mantra. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The officers pushed through the front door and headed for the bar. After a cursory glance, Rachel concluded that the inside of the club also looked far better with the lights off before her attention was drawn to a man standing behind the bar.

“We’re closed—Oh, it’s you lot. The manager’s out the back.” The barman didn’t look pleased to see them.

“Actually, you might be able to help us. Sergeant Smith, Sergeant Weston, Sun Hill,” Smithy introduced them.

“Tim Johnson, barman. What can I do for you?”

“Can you tell us who was working the bar two nights ago?”

“Yeah, me, Jen ‘n Stacy. Why?”

“Good, you’re the man we want to talk to. Do you know who the man in this photo is?” Rachel slid a screen grab of the suspect across the bar.

Tim studied the photo briefly, and both sergeants caught the flash of unease that flickered across his face. “Never seen him before. We were busy as hell that night,” he declared, pushing the picture away.

“Really?” The sergeant slapped the second photo on the bar in front of him, feeling her irritation and impatience rising. Her anger was already simmering close to the surface, and the barman was presenting himself as a convenient target. As a result, Rachel was far more abrupt that she may have been under other circumstances. “Because it looks like you’re talking to him here. And here.” A third photo joined the other two. The timestamps showed that the barman and the suspect had spoken at least three times, with one of the conversations lasting almost ten minutes. “I’m really not in the mood to be messed around today, so either tell us who he is or I arrest you for obstruction.”

The barman stayed silent, and the sergeants glanced at each other briefly before Rachel shrugged and began to move around the bar, reaching for her handcuffs.

“Okay then. Tim Johnson, I’m arresting you for obstruction. You do not have to say anything—”

“Okay, okay, I know him.” Tim held his hands up in surrender and backed away from the officers. “He’s been in here every night for the last two weeks. His name’s Jake something…Casey, Cassidy, something like that. He’s sort of a regular now, so I talk to him in the slow times. Jen and Stace always said he was a creep, but damn he could be charming, too. I don’t think he ever left alone.” He stopped, as if trying to remember something. “Huh. Now that I think about it, he wasn’t here last night.”

“Right. Where can we find him?” Rachel asked, after sharing a glance with Smithy.

“I don’t know. Honest!” He exclaimed, backing away slightly as Rachel’s hand moved towards her handcuffs again. “Jen said he was always offering to take her back to his place, she might know. Ask her.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jen the barmaid, the sergeants discovered once they tracked her down, knew both Mr Jake Cassidy’s name and address, and she was happy to share that information on the condition that they promise to “arrest the creep”. A quick check on the name revealed that their suspect was low-level crook, with some arrests for B&E, shoplifting and robbery, but nothing violent.

The barmaid’s directions led Rachel and Smithy to a flat on an estate a little way from the club; an area with a reputation for having landlords happy to look the other way as long as the rent was paid on time.

They hammered on the door, but there were no signs of life from inside.

“What d’you reckon?” Smithy asked as they gave up and started back towards the car.

“Get someone in plain clothes to sit outside for a few hours. He’s gotta come back some time,” Rachel replied, but Smithy looked dubious.

“We’ve only got the barmaid’s word that this is his place. We could spend hours sitting out here only to discover it belongs to some old granny out doing her shopping.” They had run checks on the property on the way there, only to discover that the rent was paid in cash, and the lease agreement had been signed with a fake name. The inspector had had a rather pointed chat with the landlord about that.

“I don’t think an old granny would sign the lease with ‘I.P Knightly’, do you?” Smithy still looked doubtful. “Jen had no reason to lie to us, and even if she did, all we lose is a few hours.”

The other sergeant mulled that over briefly before conceding, and Rachel began to radio instructions back to the station as they walked.

They were almost back at the car when something caught Rachel’s attention out of the corner of her eye: A figure rounding the corner, not far from where they were parked. It wasn’t his appearance that caught her eye, but his behaviour. He’d come around the corner, but stopped dead at the sight of the police car and dropped the bag he’d be carrying. From the brief glance that the sergeant got, he matched both the CCTV pictures and the description Millie had given them of their suspect, Jake Cassidy.

“Smithy…” She started, getting his attention. Before she could elaborate, the man took off back the way he’d come. Rachel was after him in a heartbeat. “Oi! Come here!”

Behind her, she heard Smithy yell something, then the sirens and the skidding of tires, but paid it little mind as she ran towards the corner that Cassidy had vanished around. She spotted him again as she rounded the corner. He was almost halfway down the road and had a decent head start, but Rachel was faster. The anger, finally allowed an outlet, had mixed with adrenaline and overpowered her lingering weariness, and for those few moments, she felt lighter than she had since she’d walked into that alley.

Cassidy was almost at the end of the street when Smithy sped past her, overtaking him and swinging the car around to block his path. Cassidy tried to change direction and go around the obstacle, but the delay was enough for Rachel to catch up to him, slamming into him with enough force to dent the car.

“Whoa, easy!” Smithy said as she swung Jake to the ground and knelt on his back, pulling his arms together so she could handcuff him as she recited the caution between breaths. The other sergeant pulled both of them to their feet, ignoring Cassidy’s groans of protest, and forced the suspect into the car before turning on Rachel, who was catching her breath. “You okay?” he asked, nodding towards the hand she held to her ribs.

“I’m fine,” she muttered in reply, removing the hand.

“You sure?” He ran his hand over the dent in the door, scratching at a section of the fluorescent paint that had cracked slightly and whistled softly. “The inspector’s not gonna be happy.”

Rachel ignored him and slid back into the car, trying to calm herself. Cassidy wasn’t helping.  He was groaning in the back seat, doing his best to appear to be clutching his chest while handcuffed. “Uhhhnnn, I think you broke my ribs,” he moaned. “I need a hospital.”

“The FME will look you over when we get back to the station,” Rachel replied tightly, not turning around. Her body was still amped up from the chase, and while a few deep breaths lowered her heart rate somewhat, her emotions were proving more difficult to rein in. Letting her anger surface had been a bad idea. Rachel was not, by nature, a particularly violent person, and she had never before taken pleasure in hurting anyone, suspect or not, regardless of what they had done. But the satisfaction she’d got from slamming Cassidy against the car – far more forcefully than was necessary – was visceral and undeniable. Revenge had never been something she’d had the inclination to indulge in, but in this case, her first instinct had been to hurt the man that’d had a hand in Millie’s ordeal. It was troubling on many levels.

She didn’t look at Smithy as he dropped into the driver’s seat, though she could feel his concerned eyes on her. He took a breath, as if to say something, but changed his mind at a theatrical whimper from the back seat. Instead, he just started the car, and began manoeuvring the vehicle back to the correct position on the road.

Cassidy continued to moan softly until Smithy’s irritation got the best of him and he told Jake pointedly to shut up. After that, the drive was silent, each of the occupants lost in their own private thoughts.

**…**

The suspect’s head jerked up from its position on the table as the door to the interview room opened and Max sauntered in, followed closely by Smithy. The two sergeants each took a seat, and after reciting the usual introduction for the tape, Max made a great show of examining the file he was carry before tossing it carelessly on the table.

“Well, Mr Cassidy, I think congratulations are in order. It’s not often one person manages to single-handedly piss off an entire police station.”

“’ey?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jake. It doesn’t suit you.” The suspect just looked blankly across the table and shrugged. Max sighed in irritation.

“Why’d you run?” Smithy asked, trying a different tactic.

“Unpaid parking tickets.” He shrugged, looking unconcerned. “You know how they pile up. I’ve been meaning to pay them, I swear.”

“You don’t own a car, Jake,” Smithy pointed out, exasperated, and he shrugged again.

In the observation room, Rachel was pacing back and forth behind the inspector, who stood at the window. Her torso still ached from slamming Cassidy against the car, but her frustration was making it impossible for her to stop moving.

“Rachel, stand still, you’re giving me a headache,” Gold finally snapped, annoyed at the constant movement behind her. The sergeant halted her pacing and moved to stand beside Gina, but her hand continued to twitch against her leg, a sign of the restless energy roiling within her.

“They’re taking too long. I should be in there, I was the arresting officer,” Rachel muttered.

“He’s already talking about filing a complaint against you. The less contact you have with him, the better,” Gina replied, with a hint of reproach in her tone.

“He’s just bruised.”

“That’s not the point,” Gold retorted. “Maybe you should take a step back from this. Let Smithy and Max handle it. Maybe you’re too close.”

“We’re all ‘too close’ to this one, Ma’am. It’s Millie,” Rachel replied, resuming her agitated pacing. “By rights, we should’ve handed it off to Barton Street. Why am I any closer to it than Max or Smithy?”

“Max and Smithy aren’t running around hitting people with cars,” Gina replied with a pointed glance. Rachel considered mentioning that technically the suspect had hit the car all by himself, but she knew that wasn’t the point.  “All I’m saying is that it’s not like you, Rachel. Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Yes ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

They both fell silent as back in the interview room, Cassidy’s lawyer got fed up with the fishing. “Officers, you’re wasting my client’s time. Either get to the point or we’re leaving.”

Max shot him a glare before opening the file he’d been examining before. “Do you know this woman?” He slid a picture of Millie across the table.

Cassidy made a show of picking it up and examining it intently. “Never seen her before.”

“Really? You sure?” Smithy pressed him.

“Yeah. She’s hot, I’d remember.” He slid the picture back across the table. “We done? I’ve got an excessive force complaint to make.”

Max ignored him. “So this isn’t you, talking to her in the Andromeda Bar two nights ago?” he asked, replacing Millie’s photo with CCTV shots from the bar showing exactly that.

“Nah, can’t’ve been—“ Cassidy started, but Max ignored him and continued.

“And it isn’t you who dragged her out to the alley behind the club and handed her over to the guy who did this to her?” He slapped down the pictures they’d taken of Millie’s injuries at St. Hugh’s, including the cuts on her body.

“What the hell, man!” Jake swore, his nonchalant facade disappearing. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” He pushed the photos away violently, going pale. “I don’t know nothing about that, man.”

Max stood and leant over the table, towering over the suspect as he pushed the photos back towards him. “Look at them, Jake. That’s what he did to her. The doctor stopped counting the cuts once she got to twenty. Think about that. The man you gave her to sliced into her over twenty times, and you let it happen. Do you even remember her name?” Cassidy shook his head. “Her name is Millie Brown. _PC_ Millie Brown.”

At the addition of Millie’s title, Cassidy paled even further. “He swore he wouldn’t hurt her!” Jake stood, ignoring his solicitor’s hand on his arm. “I didn’t know, honest. The son-of-a-bitch said he just wanted to talk to her; he promised he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Sit down, Mr Cassidy.” Smithy had stood when Jake did, but Max overrode him and kept talking.

“What exactly did you think he was gonna do to her, Jake? That he was gonna take the drunk girl out the back and have a nice chat about the weather? What?”

“Sit down! Now!” Smithy commanded again, this time talking to Max as much as Cassidy. The DS looked like he was about ready to fling himself at the suspect, and in the observation room, Rachel was surprised to find herself silently egging him on.

Both men sat down, though not before Max had shot his counterpart an icy glare. Once he was sure they’d both calmed down somewhat, Smithy follow suit.

“Right. Start from the beginning,” he told Jake, who looked like he was ready to pass out.

“He came up to me in the club. Said that he’d had a fight with his girlfriend and he wanted to talk some sense into her, but she was avoiding him. He offered me two hundred quid if I could get her out the back. He said he was just messing around, that he just wanted to scare her a bit! I swear I didn’t know he was going to hurt her. I swear.” He looked across at them and saw the scepticism in the sergeants’ eyes.

“Right, so a bloke comes up to you in a club, asks you to lure a woman outside, and you think it’s just fun and games? You’re either stupid or gullible.”

“Look, it’s the truth, I swear! The last thing I wanted was you guys crawling all over the place.”

“Oh really? And why’s that?”

“Because I was casing the joint, alright?” His lawyer began to raise an objection, but Jake overrode him. “Shut up. I didn’t actually do anything yet, and I can’t now, can I? Not with you lot swarming all over the place and more security on the doors. A month of work out the window.”

“So you expect us to believe that you didn’t do this because you were planning to rob the club?”

“Well yeah, it’s basic logic, innit? The last thing I’d want when I’m planning a job is you lot poking around stirring shit up. I swear, if I’d know what that guy was gonna do to your chick, I woulda told him to shove it.”

“Can you identify this man?” Smithy asked, ignoring DS Carter’s scepticism.

Jake shook his head. “He never told me his name, and I never got a good look at him. He had a hoodie on. All he did was show me a photo of the chick and gave me half the money.”

“Officers,” his lawyer interrupted, raising a hand. “I would like a moment to confer with my client. Perhaps a short break is in order?”

The sergeants glanced at each other briefly, before Smithy acquiesced. “Fine. Interview suspended 15.58.”


	9. Chapter 9

“So, do we think he’s telling the truth?” DI Manson asked. They were in the briefing room, and Max had just finished his recap of the interview while Jo added the information to the timeline on the whiteboard.

“I don’t buy it, Guv,” the DS replied. “A stranger comes up to him in a club and tells him to lure a woman outside and he does it? He’s dumber than he looks if that’s true.”

“What do you think happened, then?”

“At the very least, he knows the guy. They probably planned it together. Maybe the other guy is a figment of his imagination, and he did it all himself.”

Rachel shook her head. “Millie told us there was a second attacker, and the rest of Cassidy’s story lines up with hers, more or less. Besides, surely he’d come up with a better story if he’d known what was gonna happen. He must’ve known we’d find him, it’s not like he’s trying to hide from the cameras.”

“Get someone go back through the CCTV,” Jo suggested. “See if we can’t spot this guy talking to Cassidy.”

Gina nodded. “Good idea. Roger, can you and Nate get on that?”

Roger nodded and left the room as the DI spoke up again.

“Okay, so until we prove otherwise, I think we should assume Cassidy’s telling the truth. So, working on that assumption, who would have motive? Has Millie been involved in any cases that could be related?”

Rachel shook her head. She’d been asking herself that question since she sat down in the ambulance. “Nothing that would provoke such an extreme reaction. We can go back through her case files, but... she’s Millie. She doesn’t have that sort of effect on people.”

The uniformed officers in the room were nodding in agreement, and from the corner, Sally spoke up. “It’s true, Guv. She’s got christmas cards off people she’s arrested. I know they’re not all happy with her, but I don’t think she’s ever pissed anyone off badly enough to do that to her.”

“What about her personal life?” Jo asked.

Rachel and Smithy both looked at Sally, who shrugged. “She hasn’t mentioned anything, but you’re better off asking her.”

The DI nodded. “Okay, so until we can speak to Millie again, our best bet is the CCTV and going through her files. Gina, can you get some people on that?”

The uniformed inspector nodded, and motioned for the uniformed officers to follow her as she left.

Jo had one last question. “What do we do with Cassidy in the meantime, Guv?”

“I say we bail him and see where he goes. He might go after Alley Man,” Max suggested.

Rachel looked incredulously at her CID counterpart. “You’re joking, right? You want to obbo him on the off chance he goes after a known violent offender? And that’s assuming he does go after him. We could waste days waiting for something that never happens.”

Max turned to the DI, appealing to his superior. “Forty-eight hours, Guv, that’s all I’m asking for. Cassidy doesn’t strike me as a particularly patient man. If he’s gonna do anything, he’ll do it quickly. We sit on him ‘round the clock, see if he knows where the second guy is.”

The DI mulled it over briefly before nodding. “Do it.”

**…**

Rachel sighed and sat back, stretching the aching muscles in her neck and back. She’d been going through the files of all the cases that Millie had had a hand in, but so far hadn’t found anything promising.

Smithy was out with the troops and Stone had taken her nightshifts, so Rachel had the sergeants’ office to herself. Most of the relief were out on patrol, meaning that section of the station was unusually quiet. Rachel was enjoying the peace, so when it was broken by the sounds of footsteps echoing down the hall, the sergeant glanced up to see someone walk past the open door. Then looked up again, thinking that she’d been looking at case files too long and her brain was playing tricks on her. But no, as she looked out the other doorway, the same figure walked past, heading for CID.

Rachel was up in an instant, ignoring the sharp complaints from her legs after hours of inactivity.

“Millie?” she called, and the figure jumped and whipped around.

“Oh, hey Sarge,” Millie muttered after she identified the speaker and relaxed. Her voice had lost the huskiness it’d had at the hospital, and she greeted the sergeant with a warm smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. How’re you feeling?” Rachel asked as she approached. As she drew closer, she was struck with the unexpected desire to hug the redhead, but restrained it to a simple hand on her shoulder.

“I’m okay. Thanks.” The constable certainly looked far better than the last time Rachel had seen her. The bruises on her arms were covered by the long-sleeve shirt she was wearing, and the cut on her forehead was covered by her hair. Her skin had returned to its usual colour, and looking at her now, seeing that she was alive, well, and recovering sent a wash of relief through the sergeant, easing tension she hadn’t realised was there.

“What’re you doing here?” the sergeant asked as they started walking again.

“DS Carter wanted to speak to me. Listen, Sarge…” The constable stopped walking again and turned to her sergeant. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did that night. I…”

“Don’t mention it,” Rachel replied softly, meeting her eye and smiling. Millie held her gaze briefly, then looked away, a slight flush rising on her cheeks. “C’mon then,” Rachel murmured, once the moment had passed. “We don’t want to keep DS Carter waiting.”

**…**

The two officers pushed through the CID doors together. Most of the desks were unoccupied, and those few detectives that were there were too focused on whatever they were doing to look up. The door to the briefing room was open, and through it, the whiteboard was clearly visible, as were the pictures on it. Thankfully, Max stood from his desk, blocking their line of sight before Millie noticed what was on the board. Rachel didn’t think she’d react well to seeing pictures of her injuries and the remains of her clothing.

“Millie! How’re you feeling?” The DS asked as he approach. Rachel noted that he was tactful enough to stop a safe distance away, to avoid crowding the PC.

“I’m fine, Sarge. Thanks.”

“That’s good.” He nodded, then continued. “I just wanted to ask you some questions, see if you remember anything else from your attack.”

If Rachel hadn’t been watching Millie as the DS spoke, she would have missed the way the constable flinched when Max said ‘attack’. Mentally cursing the DS for his insensitivity, she spoke.

“Why don’t we take this somewhere else so we don’t disturb the others,” she suggested, nodding towards the other detectives.

“The DI said we could use his office,” Max offered, ushering the two women into the room, shutting the door.

“Okay, so…” Once they’d all taken a seat, Max began by giving Millie a brief outline of what they knew so far, then started asking her questions.

It didn’t go well. Millie was unable to add much beyond what she’d already told them, and Max’s tactlessness in the way he questioned her wasn’t helping. Rachel didn’t think he was being deliberately malicious, he just didn’t know interact with this new, traumatised Millie, and it was frustrating him. Rachel tried to take the edge off his manner somewhat, but she knew the incipient explosion wasn’t far off.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else? Think hard, Millie. You know how sometimes victims block things out—”

“I’m not hiding anything, and I’m not a bloody victim, Max!” Millie reacted exactly the way Rachel predicted she would, standing up and shouting angrily at the CID officer.

“That’s not what I meant. Please, just sit down.” He tried to guide the constable back into her chair, but Millie was in no mood to be guided. She jerked out of Max’s reach and glared at him, her brown eyes dancing with anger.

Rachel, deciding that Max had caused enough damage for one evening, intervened. “DS Carter, can I have a word?” He shot her an annoyed look, but headed for the door as Rachel gave Millie a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she murmured before following her colleague out of the room.

Once the door had swung shut behind them, Rachel pulled the detective out into the corridor. “What are you doing?”

Now he looked perplexed as well as annoyed. “What’d you mean? I’m interviewing a witness.”

“No, you’re interviewing a _victim_ , Max, as much as she says otherwise.” Though she flinched internally at thinking of Millie as such, she was careful not to let it show. “You might want to keep that in mind.”

“Look, I admire your standing up for your officers and all that, but if she knows something, I need to know what.”

“And you think she’s going to tell you if you push her until she breaks, is that it?”

“Of course not, but you haven’t got it out of her by being nice, so…”

“Just back off, Max! You were at the hospital; you know what she went through. She doesn’t need you on her case at the moment.” The sergeant ignored their difference in height as she stood in front of him, eyes blazing.

“Millie should be the one who wants us to catch this guy! I think she’s holding something back, and I need to know what it is!”

Their raised voices were attracting an audience, but both officers ignored the looks being directed their way through the glass pane of the doors. “ _If_ she’s hiding something, you’re not gonna get it out of her by charging her like a bull in a china shop! She’s traumatised, and you’re making it worse!”

“I do know how to do my job, thank you, and I—”

“Oi! That’s enough! Both of you!” Rachel and Max both took a step back as Inspector Gold’s voice echoed up the stairs, but continued to glare at each other as Gina herself appeared beside them. “Now, how about the pair of you start behaving like sergeants instead of a couple of squabbling schoolchildren and tell me what’s going on.”

“Just a disagreement over interview technique, Ma’am,” the detective began. “I was just reminding your sergeant here that as SIO, it’s my decision how we conduct the interviews related to this case.”

“I don’t care if you’re the police commissioner himself, I won’t have you harassing a traumatised woman who also happens to be one of my officers!” Rachel replied angrily.

“I was not harassing her—”

“Enough!” Gold shouted, silencing both sergeants again. “Okay, both of you need to calm down and take a step back from this. I understand that emotions are running high on this case, but neither of you are doing anyone, especially Millie, any favours by behaving like children.” She looked between the pair of them, expression and tone allowing no argument. “Now, you are both going to go home and get some sleep. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Neither sergeant was happy about it, but they weren’t foolish enough to disobey a direct order, either.

“Good. Now that that’s sorted, Rachel, can you make sure Millie gets home?” Rachel nodded. “Excellent. Well in that case, I’ll see you both tomorrow. Goodnight, sergeants.” Gina watched them stonily as they pushed back through the doors to CID before returning to her office.

Rachel could feel Max’s angry glare on the back of her neck as he headed back over to his desk, but ignored it as she re-entered the DI’s office. Max could be as angry as he liked, the inspector had agreed with her. Otherwise, Gina would’ve let the DS continue the interview.

Millie had calmed down enough to resume her seat, though she stood again as Rachel entered.

“Everything okay, Sarge?” she asked, concern in her tone.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Rachel replied with a reassuring smile. “The inspector told me to get you home; we’ll do this another time. Is your sister here, or…?”

“Katie dropped me off, but she had to go to work. Her boss is a jerk, he told her she could only take one personal day, so I told her I’d be fine. I was going to get a cab home…” The expression that flashed across the constable’s face revealed how little she wanted to get into a car with a stranger, but she was quick to mask it.

Rachel saw it anyway. “I’ll drop you home,” she offered. “It’s not far out of my way, and the inspector just ordered me home anyway.”

“Are you sure? If it’s a hassle I can just…”

“It’s not a problem,” Rachel assured her, seeing the flash of relief in her eyes before it was hidden behind her mask. There had been something else there, too, but it was gone too quickly for the sergeant to identify it.

“Thanks, Sarge.”

**…**

The drive was mostly silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Millie appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, and Rachel was fairly sure she wasn’t in the mood for random small talk.

The quiet spell ended, though, when they drove over a speed bump. Rachel winced slightly as the movement caused her seatbelt to dig into her still-tender ribs; Millie caught the subtle movement, and spoke.

“Are you okay?” At the sergeant’s questioning glance, she explained. “Sally called to check up on me. She told me about the thing with Jake and the car.” Her voice didn’t falter when she said Cassidy’s name, which Rachel took as a good sign.

“His lawyer talked him out of making a complaint, since he was technically resisting arrest at the time. And given the nature of the crime he was being arrested for…”

“What about the inspector? I’m guessing she wasn’t too pleased with you denting the patrol car.”

Rachel grimaced. _That_ particular conversation hadn’t been fun. “She wasn’t thrilled about it. But it was a stupid thing to do, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why did you?” Millie asked quietly, after a brief pause.

Rachel wasn’t sure how to answer that. She was hesitant to examine her motives too closely, uncomfortably aware that doing so would lead her to conclusions she wasn’t ready to face. So instead, she gave Millie the same answer she’d given the inspector. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either.

“I wasn’t expecting Smithy to stop so close to him. He ran into the car and I was moving too quickly to stop in time.” 

Judging from Millie’s expression, she didn’t believe the half-truth any more than Gina had, but Rachel was spared further questioning by their arrival at Millie’s flat. The sergeant pulled over and killed the engine.

“Do you want me to come up with you?” She asked, looking over at her constable.

Millie dropped her gaze to her lap and blushed. “No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

This time Millie met her eye. “Yeah. Thanks, Sarge.”

Rachel smiled and nodded as the constable climbed out of the car. “Call me if you need anything.”

Millie smiled, then shut the door and started walking quickly towards the building. Rachel watched her until the front door closed behind her, then started the car again and pulled back onto the road.

She hadn’t even reached the end of the street when her phone rang. Frowning, she glanced down at the caller ID before answering quickly.

“Millie?”

“Someone’s been here.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m coming.” The sergeant slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech as she swung the car into an illegal U-turn and sped back the way she’d come. “What happened?” There was no response. “Millie?” Rachel frowned and pulled the phone away from her ear, glancing at the screen to see the call had been disconnected. She felt her heart leap into her throat as she shoved the device into the pocket of her jacket.

What felt like an eternity later – though it was probably only a few moments – she pulled up in front of Millie’s building, haphazardly parking her car, not even bothering to lock it in her haste.

She raced up the stairs, feeling her heart pounding in her throat, and pushed through the door, scanning the hallway. She noted the door to Millie’s flat was open, and felt knot of fear in her stomach tighten painfully.

Finally, she spotted her constable. Millie was sitting on the floor, pressed into the corner with her knees pushed up to her chest and her head down, a veil of hair shielding her face. Beside her, her phone lay on the ground where she’d dropped it, the battery free of its casing. Her position was so similar to _that night_ that Rachel felt a chill run down her spine.

The sergeant was kneeling beside her in a heartbeat. “Are you hurt? What happened?” She cautiously laid a hand on Millie’s arm and felt the constable quiver under her touch. She was shaking violently, and her breath was coming in quick, gasping sobs. Rachel moved her grip to Millie’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Look at me, Millie. You’re panicking, just breathe. Breathe.” Her other hand went to Millie’s face, brushing the hair away from her eyes and tilting her head up. The sergeant noticed she’d unconsciously slowed and deepened her own breathing, silently encouraging Millie to copy her.

Eventually the constable calmed down enough for her to talk. “He was here, Sarge. He knows where I live, he was here…” Her breathing was speeding up again, but Rachel squeezed her hand and interrupted her.

“It’s okay, Millie. Just breathe. Are you hurt?” The constable shook her head, and Rachel let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Okay. Are you sure he was here?” Millie nodded her head this time, vigorously, and Rachel fished her phone out of her pocket. “Okay, I’m gonna call Stone and get a unit over here, alright?” Millie nodded and Rachel stood, dialling the other sergeant’s number. She kept one eye on the door to the flat, aware that the assailant may still be inside. From her new vantage point, Rachel could see why Millie was so sure her attacker had been in her home. Starting a few feet from the open door, there were rose petal strewn around on the floor, and a single blood-red rose resting on the end table.

_“I could have you, my rose.”_

The roses were obviously a message, and fear shot through Rachel as she realised what it was: I know where you live, and I can get in. The sergeant’s heart pounded hard and her vision narrowed as she realised that, had Max not called her into the station, Millie would have been here alone when her attacker decided to pay her a visit.

She was distracted from her terrified realisation by Callum’s voice in her ear. _“Stone.”_

“Callum, it’s Rachel…” She briefly outlined the situation, then jerked the phone away from her ear as Stone swore loudly.

 _“Sorry. I’ll be there in five minutes,”_ he told her, and before he hung up Rachel caught the sound of him flicking on the sirens.

As she slipped her phone back into her pocket and knelt down beside Millie again, Rachel was wishing fiercely that she was in uniform and had her asp. She felt vulnerable without it, and was uncomfortably aware the attacker might still be in the flat. As it was, she was torn between staying with the constable, and moving to check out the flat to make sure he wasn’t waiting for Millie. Eventually, caution won out over curiosity, and she stood and offered Millie a hand.

“C’mon, we should wait in the car.”

Millie stared at her for a moment, like she wasn't sure how to move anymore. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and her expression uncomprehending, but eventually she took the sergeant's hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Rachel could feel her trembling through their joined hands, and squeezed it gently in reassurance as she led her towards the stairs.

**…**

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Rachel could hear the distant sound of sirens growing closer, and it wasn't long before the IRV sped into view and swung in to park behind her own car. Stone climbed out of the car and hurried towards them, followed closely by Sally. The blonde sergeant was mildly impressed; for Stone to get there so quickly meant they either he'd been in the area already, or had set some new land speed records. Knowing Callum, probably both.

“Is she hurt? Did you see anyone?” The other sergeant asked as he approached them, his hand already hovering over his asp. Rachel felt Millie twitch slightly as the other officers drew closer and the constable shook her head to both questions. “Okay. We're gonna go up and have a look. Arun and Tony aren't far behind us. Stay down here and wait for them.”

Rachel nodded her assent, and the two officers disappeared into the building. The sergeant felt Millie tremble again, and realised the constable hadn’t released the death grip on her hand. Millie’s eyes were glazed, and Rachel could see her heart pounding in the pulse point of her throat. It was obvious the constable was withdrawing into herself again, her thoughts working her back into a state of near panic, and as Rachel led her over to her car she cast around for something, anything to draw her out of that spiral.

“You and Katie seem close.” Inwardly, Rachel winced as she said it. The question was another of those pointless platitudes they’d been taught, and it felt insincere even as she uttered it. But Millie seemed to recognise what the sergeant was trying to do, and her breathing slowed somewhat as she made an effort to focus the jumbled haze her thoughts had become.

“Yeah, she, um...” She paused and shook her head slightly. “Yeah, we see each other a bit. She manages one of those all-night cafe places so sometimes we have breakfast or something if I’ve been on nights…” Millie trailed off and released Rachel’s hand as if she’d only just noticed she was still holding it. She disguised the motion by reaching for the door handle, but Rachel found that she missed the warmth of the grip almost immediately. Millie dropped gently to sit sideways in the passenger seat of Rachel’s car, but winced and put a hand to her stomach as the motion pulled at her injuries.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked, meaning more than just her obvious wounds. The flashing blue lights of the IRV were the only illumination in the growing darkness, and their colour made the already pale constable look almost translucent. She looked very small, sitting there, and as Rachel’s adrenaline wore off, she realised she was genuinely afraid for her constable. 

It took a moment for Millie to answer and when she did, her voice was shaking. “He knows where I live, Sarge... If I hadn’t gone to the station he would’ve…”

“But he didn’t,” Rachel interrupted her, trying desperately not to dwell on that possibility herself. She crouched down in front of the constable and tilted her head, forcing Millie to meet her eye. “You’ll drive yourself crazy with ‘what ifs’, Millie. You’re okay. Just focus on that for now.”

The constable nodded, and took a deep breath, but any response she might’ve had was drowned out by the wailing of sirens as the second IRV came skidding into the street, pulling up behind the first one. Rachel stood as Arun and Tony came towards them, concern written across their faces.

“Sarge,” Arun nodded in greeting. “Millie, are you okay?”

The constable had calmed enough to answer without her voice shaking. “Yeah, I’m fine. Honest,” she added when Arun’s eyes flicked from the healing cut on her head to the bruises just visible under her jacket. Millie shifted slightly, obviously uncomfortable with the scrutiny, letting her hair fall forward slightly and shaking her sleeve down to cover her injuries. The other constable seemed to get the message, and backed off somewhat.

“Can you tell us what happened, Millie?” Tony asked from behind Arun, his notebook in his hand.

Millie smiled slightly at the older constable and nodded. Then she took a deep breath, steadying herself, and started talking. “Sergeant Weston dropped me home, and when I got upstairs I noticed the door to my flat was open. I looked inside and there were…” She stopped and took another deep breath, and Rachel slipped a hand onto her shoulder. Millie gave her sergeant a small smile before continuing. “There were rose petals everywhere. I knew… I knew _he’d_ been there, so I called Sergeant Weston and she called Sergeant Stone.”

Tony nodded. “Did you see anyone hanging around? Sarge?” He asked as he was writing. Both women shook their heads.

Stone and Sally had re-joined them as Millie was talking. “The flat’s clear,” Sally told them. “We called Eddie; he said he’d be here soon.”

“What do you want us to do, Sarge?” Arun asked, looking between the two sergeants. Rachel looked at Stone, aware that she was off-duty, making it his call.

“I want you three to go talk to the neighbours, they might have seen or heard something.” The three constables nodded and vanished back into the building.

“Did you find anything in there?” Rachel asked her counterpart.

“Not much. It doesn’t look like he went much past the entryway, we couldn’t see anything else disturbed. Just the rose petals and one other thing.” He took out his phone, flicking through it briefly before handing it to Rachel. “We left it in-situ for Eddie, but I snapped a picture of it.”

The blonde sergeant looked at the phone briefly, then – after a short internal debate – handed it to Millie. On the screen was a picture of the rose that had been lying on the end table, but Rachel guessed it was the piece of paper underneath it that had caught Callum’s attention. It looked like an embossed business card, but there were only two words on it, written in ornate font. _Forgive me._

“Does that mean anything to you, Millie?” Stone asked, watching her reaction. The constable shook her head again as she passed the phone back to him. “Okay. Well, we’ll get Eddie to check for prints.”

“Could it have been Jake Cassidy?” Rachel suggested, but Stone shook his head.

“Nah, the obbo team would have stopped him if he came anywhere near here. I’ll check with them, but I don’t think it’s likely.” The sergeant looked down at Millie, who – though she’d stopped shaking – still looked pale and scared under the lights of the IRVs. “You won’t be able to go back into the flat until Eddie’s done, and I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone tonight. Do you have someone you can stay with? Your sister, maybe?”

“She’s working all night,” Millie replied, and Rachel could see the glimmer of despair in her eyes as she looked towards her flat.

“You can stay at my place, if you like,” Rachel offered, surprising herself. She had made the suggestion as an almost automatic reaction to that hopeless look, not stopping to consider the emotion behind it.

She’d surprised Millie, too, judging by the new expression on the constable’s face. “I’d…Are you sure? I don’t want to be a hassle…”

“No, I don’t mind.” If anything, the sergeant realised, she’d prefer having Millie somewhere close by, somewhere she could make sure for herself that the constable was unharmed.

Millie looked down at her hands briefly, then smiled tentatively at Rachel. “Okay. Thanks, Sarge.”

**…**

“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, then. Thanks, Callum.” Rachel hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket, pausing for a moment to rub a hand across her face. She could feel the weariness creeping over her, a result of days with only restless sleep and an aftereffect of her adrenaline rush. She rubbed her face again before making her way into the living room where Millie was curled up on the sofa, staring at the TV with a blank expression. The constable didn’t react to Rachel’s presence, and the sergeant took a moment to evaluate the other woman. She hadn’t moved since Rachel had left the room to take Stone’s call, and she’d barely said a word since they’d left her flat. The only light in the room came from the television, and it gave her a hauntingly pale glow, reflecting off her glassy eyes to give the constable an almost unearthly appearance.

 _‘She looks like a ghost.’_ The thought floated, unbidden, into Rachel’s tired mind, and she shook her head gently to clear it. A moment later, another one rose to take its place. _‘God, she’s beautiful.’_

That thought stunned her out of her contemplative haze, and the sergeant blinked in surprise before shaking herself and flicking on the lamp on the end table, washing the room in a low, warm light, dispelling the ethereal glow and startling Millie out of her trance.

“Sorry,” the sergeant muttered, willing away the blush her realisation had brought to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 “I’m fine,” Millie replied, her tone suggesting she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “What did Sergeant Stone say?”

“Eddie’s just about finished. He’s found a couple of partials, and he seems to think he might be able to trace the paper the message was written on.” Millie nodded, but kept her gaze on her hands as Rachel continued. “Stone called the team they have on Jake Cassidy, and it wasn’t him. Apparently he’s spent the day drowning his sorrows with various narcotics and entertaining the streetwalkers down near the docks.” Millie pulled a face at that, and Rachel grimaced. “They’re violations of his bail conditions, at least, so they have something to pick him up for when the surveillance deadline is up.”

Millie nodded again, then asked, “Can I go home tomorrow?”

“The locksmith’s there now, changing the locks. Callum said he’d drop the keys off in the morning, but Millie…” Rachel hesitated, reluctant to bring up the subject. “I don’t think you should stay there. This guy’s already got in once. Is there anyone you could stay with for a few days? Katie?”

Millie’s head snapped up at that, anger dancing across her features that surprised the sergeant. “No! No, he doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t, I won’t let him…” The constable didn’t seem to notice the tears trickling down her cheeks. “That’s my home, he doesn’t get to take that…He doesn’t…” She trailed off, trying to control the sobs wracking her body.

Rachel moved around the sofa to sit next to her, alarmed by the constable’s sudden outburst. “Millie—”

“I’m sorry. I’m fine, I’m fine…”

Rachel reached out and took her hand, silencing her mantra. “Millie, you’re not fine. And that’s okay. What you went through… Nobody’s expecting you to just shrug it off.” Reaching out her free hand, the sergeant brushed back the hair that was veiling Millie’s face, revealing her red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t have to keep it all in. You can talk to me, Millie.”

The constable was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke her voice was very quiet “I just…I just don’t understand. Why me?” She turned her head, meeting Rachel’s gaze properly for the first time since they’d left her flat. “Why is this happening to me?” Rachel felt her heart constrict at the emotions in her eyes, and squeezed her hand gently.

“When we arrest him, you can ask.” That reply felt trite and inadequate, and the sergeant felt her anger flare. She was sick with frustration, and desperately wanted to catch whoever was doing this to her constable. She wanted Millie to be free to go home without having to worry about the psycho breaking in a doing god-knows-what as she slept. She wanted to embrace the constable, to protect her and tell her that she was safe, and—Rachel blinked and broke off her angry train of thought. It was heading in a different, surprising direction, one the sergeant wasn’t entirely prepared to deal with. She shook herself inwardly, forcing the implications away and focusing on Millie, who had started talking again.

“And now I’m letting him chase me out of my home,” Millie continued, as if Rachel hadn’t spoken and oblivious to the sergeant’s conflicting emotions. The constable’s breath was still coming in uneven gulps, and Rachel could see her hands trembling.

“You can’t think of it like that, Millie. It’ll be okay.” Unable to resist any longer, and burying her new realisation in the back of her mind, the sergeant gently pulled the constable towards her and wrapped her arms around the shaking woman. Millie stiffened slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxed into the hug. They stayed in that position as Millie’s breathing slowed then evened out, and Rachel barely registered that the constable had fallen asleep before she too had drifted off into the welcome oblivion.


	11. Chapter 11

_The dream always begins the same way, in a blur of elation and music and bass that pounds like a heartbeat. You’re dancing, twirling through the madness of light and colour and movement, your body singing with heat, strange and familiar faces blending together. Then you’re above, floating, watching the patterns in the chaos, pulled by them, until they lead to her. She’s fuzzy, indistinct, but you know she’s you. You from that night. She’s fawning over another shadow, and that shadow is Jake. You try to float closer, but you’re still twirling through the patterns above, and you can only watch as he pours drink after drink into her mouth. He beckons and she follows like an obedient hound, and you twirl after them, helpless. There’s a noise, drowned out by the blur of colour and music that screams that this is not true, you weren’t this trusting, this naïve, but it echoes soundlessly through you as he invites her out to the alley and she agrees._

_He pushes open the door, and beyond it, all you see is stillness and blackness and silence. You try to scream, to tell her to stay, but the blackness reaches out and suddenly you are her. And you’re not twirling; you’re frozen, pinned to the ground because_ he’s _here, above you, around you, pressing you down with his weight. And then there’s light in the blackness, an eerie red that reflects off his knife and his eyes, and you look down and realise that it’s your blood because he’s cutting you, slicing you, and you scream and struggle._

_This dream is different, though. This time, when he opens the door, there’s a glimmer in the blackness. When the darkness reaches out and forces you into her, when you’re slammed into her and to the ground, he’s not there. There’s no stifling presence pressing down because the glimmer is here, and she’s between you and him. The two figures are moving, and you’re moving with them, twirling and twisting as the blood red of his eyes meets the icy blue of hers and flares brilliantly white. Then she’s turning, and cupping your cheek and brushing back your hair and touching her lips to yours and he strikes. And he’s above and beneath and around her, and you’re trapped again as his red plunges into your chest, and she’s keening as your blood is spilling, darkening her blue and you’re screaming and—_

You jerk awake and try to sit up, only to realise that you’re not in bed. You look around, disoriented, and recognize Rachel’s living room as your last conscious memories come back to you. There’s movement next to you, and you flinch, but even as you’re turning towards it, you recognise her perfume and relax. You cried yourself to sleep on her shoulder, you realise as the still-healing cuts on your stomach protest the sudden movement.

She had woken when you did, but without the benefit of adrenaline, she’s far less alert. “Millie?”

You feel your cheeks warm as you look away from her. “Sorry, I…Bad dream.”

She nods sleepily, and you blush as you realise your positions; you’d been lying almost on top of her. “Sorry Sarge, I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

She smiles and shakes her head. “It’s okay. And anyone who drools on me is allowed to call me Rachel.”

Your blush deepens as she says that, but it makes you smile, too. “Rachel,” you murmur to yourself. Her name feels warm in your mouth, and saying it feels right, somehow.

She arches her back, languidly stretching her arms, and you look away as the move pulls her shirt up, exposing a flash of skin at her waist.

“You should text Katie,” she suggests, after she’s settled back onto the sofa. “She’ll be worried if she comes home from work to find police tape on the door.” You nod and look around for your phone, and it takes you a moment to remember.

“Eddie has my mobile,” you tell her with a sick feeling in your stomach. You’d forgotten. For one brief, golden moment, you’d forgotten that your life had been turned upside down. You’d forgotten why you were here, with her, instead of curled up in your own bed.

“Hey.” She squeezes your hand, drawing you out of the spiral before it can really begin. “It’s okay. You can use mine.” She retrieves her mobile with her free hand and passes it to you. You tap out a quick message to Katie, explaining where you are but not why, knowing that she’d panic if she knew what happened. Instead, you just ask if she can pick you up after work. You type in her number from memory, and a few moments later the phone chimes with her reply.

“She says she’ll pick me up after her shift,” you tell the sergeant as you pass her phone back, and she nods then blinks sleepily.

“C’mon,” she says, standing. “We should get to bed.” You blush again at the unintentional innuendo, but she doesn’t notice. She offers you a hand, and you let her pull you up. There’s another stinging wave from your stomach, and your bruised arms ache as you move them, but you ignore them, distracted by the tingling sensation that runs through your body as you touch her. You wonder if she feels it too, because there’s something like surprise in her eyes and she drops your hand quickly. You pretend not to notice as she leads you upstairs to the guest room.

“Do you need something to sleep in?” She asks, but you shake your head. The clothes you’d worn to the station were comfortable enough, and the thought of wearing something of hers gives you a funny feeling in your stomach. You wriggle out of your jacket and kick off your shoes, and her eyes linger briefly on the newly revealed bruises on your arms, but she doesn’t mention them. Instead, she just smiles at you.

“I’m just down the hall if you need anything. Sleep well.” She turns to leave, but you catch her hand, feeling that same tingling run up your arm and down your spine. She turns back and looks at you questioningly.

“Just…Thank you, Sar—Rachel. I mean it.” You blush and look down, but she squeezes your hand and you meet her eye again.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles at you again and the warm shiver runs up your arm again before you release her hand and turn to the bed. She slips out of the room as you’re wriggling under the covers, and she closes the door only partway, so a thin strip of light from the hall paints the wall. You hear her move down the hallway, then the sound of another door closing as you settle into the unfamiliar bed and close your eyes, leaving you with only your thoughts as you drift off again.

**…**

You sleep only briefly. It’s is not unusual; you haven’t slept through the night, or even for more than a few hours at a time, since you’d left the hospital. Every time you close your eyes, he’s there, in one form or another. Though the content of the nightmares he’s given you usually vary, the gist is the same: _I was stronger than you, my rose. You were too trusting._ And now he’d shown that he knows where you live, and could get in with little effort. Your home had always been your sanctuary, your bubble of peace away from the awful things you see at work. You’d always felt safe there. To have that violated in that way was almost as bad as what happened in that alley, a continuation of what he’d started that night.

You shift your weight, rolling to your other side and anticipating the dull ache from your stomach as the move pulls at your cuts.

Your dreams are only part of the reason sleep is eluding you. You have too much energy and nothing to spend it on. You’re an active person, and being forced into inactivity, even for a day, is driving you crazy. Especially now, when every little shadow in your flat could be him. Every little noise might be him coming back for you. That, coupled with the fact that you have nothing else to do other than see how long you can go without one of your injuries twinging painfully means that you’re desperate to get out. It’s why you jumped at the chance to go to the station when Max called, even though the thought of actually going somewhere with that many people scared you. But you’d deliberately chosen a time when you knew the station would be mostly empty, and when Katie had pulled up outside and you’d noticed Rachel’s car there, you’d instantly felt better. That’s why you’d taken the long way to CID, so you could detour past the sergeants’ office in the hope that she’d be there and not out with the troops. She had been, and having her there through the ordeal of Max’s questioning had been a blessing. You’d heard little of their confrontation in the corridor, after she’d pulled the DS out of the room, but you’d got the gist from their tones. The fact that she’d been willing to stand up to the force of Max’s personality for you had sent a warm tingle down your spine.

You can hear her in her room, moving restlessly, and realise that you’re not the only one who isn’t sleeping well tonight.

You had always been somewhat attracted to her. You’d known that since the first time you’d seen her, when you’d been high off the adrenaline of a car chase and a burning motorcycle, and your interactions after that, both at work and when you’d both gone out with the others after shifts, had done nothing to diminish it. But getting to know her beyond work, knowing Rachel instead of Sergeant Weston, was rapidly morphing the physical attraction into infatuation. You’re aware that part of it is a tiny bit of hero worship, and another is probably because you’re clinging to the first comforting presence after a trauma, but you’re fairly sure you wouldn’t be reacting this way if it had been Roger or Smithy or Mel who’d found you. There was something about the blonde sergeant that drew you in and held your attention. You have no intention of actually acting on your crush – even if she did reciprocate, there are rules against it – but at least it gives you something more pleasant to dwell on, and this time, as you drift off, it’s her face that follows you into your dreams.

**…**

The next time you wake up, the darkness out the window has given way to the cold grey of near-dawn, and you hear movement somewhere below you. You slide out of bed, shivering slightly as the chilled air hits your skin, and pad softly downstairs towards the noise. You find its source in the kitchen, where Rachel is leaning against the sink with her hands wrapped around a faintly steaming mug. She’s staring, glassy-eyed out the window, but she blinks out of it when you move in her peripheral vision. There’s something like surprise in her eyes, but her expression clears quickly and she smiles at you. You can see the dark circles under her eyes that confirm her night was no more restful than yours, and her voice is slightly husky as she speaks.

“Morning. Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to sound more awake than you feel. You don’t think you succeed, though, because there’s a knowing glint in her eyes that makes you realise that if you could hear her tossing and turning last night, she could probably hear you doing the same.

“Do you want a coffee?” She offers, setting down her cup.

You nod and move to lean against the counter next to the sink as she reaches into a cupboard to retrieve another mug. The newly risen sun is sparkling through the dew on the window, and for a moment, you’re entranced by the light and shimmering colour. It reminds you of your dream, and for a second, you’re back in that miasma of colour and music and movement, dancing and twisting and twirling… Something nudges your arm, and you blink out of your reverie to see Rachel beside you. She hands you a mug and you wrap both hands around it, letting the warmth soak into your cold fingers before taking a sip.

“Thanks,” you murmur over the rim, and she smiles, reaching past you to retrieve her mug. Her hair is still damp from a shower, and the scent of her shampoo is mixing with the sharp aroma of coffee. Her hand brushes against you as she leans back, and she frowns.

“Millie, you’re freezing,” she gasps, putting her free hand on your arm. You hadn’t noticed, but she feels warm – almost hot – when she touches you, and you look down to see a line of goose bumps trailing across your fading bruises where her arm grazed yours. 

You look up, and your breath hitches in your throat as you realise how close she is. Her breath is ghosting over your cheek, and you can see the tiny flecks of silver in her eyes. You remember your resolution not to act on your feelings, but it feels unimportant now because she’s stilled almost totally, her face inches from yours, and her eyes keep flicking down to your lips. The instant freezes and crystallises in your mind, and tiny details sear into your memory; the way her heart is fluttering at her pulse point, the tiny beads of water still clinging to her hair. There’s a voice in your head that whispers it would be easy, so very easy to close that distance, just press your lips against hers and…

A knock on the door echoes though the house, shattering the moment and making both of you jump.

“Rachel! It’s Callum.”

She doesn’t answer him right away. You’re both frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at each other. There are too many emotions swimming through her gaze for you to identify any of them, and a second knock at the door breaks the spell.

“Rachel? You there?”

“Coming!” She calls back, putting her coffee down and hurrying past you. You stay rooted to the spot, frozen by what had just happened. Had you imagined that? That fraction of a second when you were sure _she_ was going to close the distance between you? You must have. It must be wishful thinking on your part. You shake yourself, trying to rein in your rioting emotions, and follow Rachel.

You find her standing by the door with Stone, who is still in his uniform. He smiles when he sees you. “Millie. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” You give what has become your automatic answer to that question. You know it’s a lie, mostly, but trying to put into words everything you’re feeling – _I can’t sleep, I’m terrified to go out alone, I want to kiss my sergeant_ – feels too hard. You can tell by the look in their eyes that neither sergeant really believes you, but they’re both tactful enough not to push.

“Good,” he says instead, while Rachel stays silent. “Here. These are your new flat keys. And here…” He extracts a plastic evidence bag from one of the pockets on his vest. “Eddie’s done with these. Sorry about the bag.” He hands it over. In it are your mobile and wallet. You get that sick, swooping feeling in your stomach that you associate with thinking about the alley, and it must show on your face, because Rachel sways slightly towards you.

“Millie?”

You look up at them, putting the _I’m Okay_ mask back on and smiling. “Thanks, Sarge.”

You shake the phone out of the bag, and try turning it on, but the screen lights up just long enough to tell you the battery is dead before going blank again. Slipping the useless device into your pocket, you retrieve your wallet and paw through it. Everything is where it’s supposed to be.

“Everything there?” Stone asks, and your nod your reply. “Good.” He glances briefly at Rachel, then continues, “Rachel said you’re going to stay at your sisters. I can take you to yours if you need to get clothes or anything.”

You smile at the gesture, but shake your head. “Thanks, Sarge, but it’s okay. Katie’s picking me up soon.”

He nods. “Okay. Eddie’s people had a quick look around, and he said they didn’t find anything else out of place, but if you do find something, don’t touch it, yeah? Just give us a ring. You know the drill.”

You nod, and your mask stay in place, but inside you’re feeling sick again. The thought of having to treat your flat, your home, as a crime scene is making your stomach churn.

Stone nods, then claps Rachel gently on the shoulder. “Okay then. I’ll see you both at work.” He gives you one last smile, then leaves.

Your mask must not be as good as you thought, because as soon as he’s out of earshot, Rachel turns to you, concern written across her face. “Millie…”

She doesn’t ask the question, probably because she knows the answer you’ll give. You try to say it anyway. And find you can’t. “I’m…I…” You take a deep breath, and look down. “Just catch him, Rachel. Please.”

You don’t look at her as you say it, and anything she may have said in response is interrupted by Katie appearing at the still-open door.

“Millie? Are you okay? What happened?” she asks as she hugs you.

You start to answer, but find you can’t give voice to the words. You don’t even want to think about last night; talking about it feels far beyond you. You look to Rachel over your sister’s shoulder, your eyes pleading.

She gets the message. “Someone broke into Millie’s flat while she was at the station yesterday,” she explains, and Katie’s grip on you tightens. “We’re investigating it, but we think it’d be a good idea if Millie stayed with you for a few days.”

“Of course you can,” Katie murmurs into your ear before releasing you.

You smile your thanks, then mumble that you need to get your things from the guest room. You hear Katie start talking as you climb the stairs, and Rachel replies with her sergeant voice, but you’re not close enough to hear the details. You hunt out your jacket from where it had fallen under the bed, and slip your shoes back on. The sun is glinting off the mirror on the wall, and you take a moment to examine yourself in it. There are dark circles under your eyes, and it might be your imagination, but you think you look smaller than you used to, and much paler. The cut along your hairline sits in stark contrast to your almost-colourless skin, and the bruises – while somewhat faded – still paint an obvious pattern across your arms.

You shudder slightly and turn away, pulling on your jacket. Looking at your injuries is intensifying the swooping sensation in your stomach, and suddenly you can’t stand to be alone. You hurry out of the room and back to where Katie and Rachel wait by the door.

“Ready to go?” your sister asks, and you hesitate. Your mind flashes back to the moment in the kitchen, and part of you is desperate to ask Rachel about it, to ask what would’ve happened if Stone had shown up five minutes later. That tiny, optimistic part is insisting that perhaps your feelings aren’t as unrequited as you think. There’s another part of you, though, the part you’re used to listening to, that’s telling you that you shouldn’t open that can of worms, that you should take the safe option and just leave it alone. You look at your sergeant briefly as the two parts war in your mind, but she’s still got her professional face on, and her expression is unreadable.

Finally, that second, safer option wins out, and you nod. “Yeah,” you murmur, turning to Rachel. You smile at her, and that first, tiny part of you wins a small victory when you pull her into a quick, tight hug. “Thank you, Rachel. For everything.”

“Anytime.” She smiles at you as you release her, and you feel a brief, ugly flare of bitterness at yourself for not being brave enough to take anything other than the safe option. You turn quickly so she doesn’t see it on your face, and lead your sister out onto the street, feeling her eyes on your back the whole way.


	12. Chapter 12

“Ma’am!” Rachel called over the babble of voices that rose as Gina released the relief from the morning briefing. The inspector kept walking, but slowed her pace slightly and allowed Rachel to catch up to her as she entered her office.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Rachel, and the answer is no,” the inspector told her, not unkindly. “Max has half of CID working on Millie’s case, and crime in Canley hasn’t stopped just because one of ours was attacked.”

“But—” Rachel began, but Gina held up a hand to interrupt her.

“No buts. Smithy’s off today, and I need you out on the streets.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Rachel finally muttered, unhappy but realising Gold wouldn’t relent. She turned and left the inspector’s office, hearing Gina sigh as she shut the door behind her, and crossed the hallway to slip into the sergeants’ office. Dropping into the chair behind her desk, with her back to the doors, she slumped forward and rested her head on her hands, groaning inwardly at the stack of reports in her in-tray. There was an ache in her head, behind her eyes, and the sergeant knew that – despite her best efforts – she probably looked as exhausted as she felt. It was likely part of the reason Gold had taken her off the case.

Rachel had spent most of the night shifting restlessly, trying to ignore her aching ribs and unable to get her mind to switch off long enough to sleep. There were too many thoughts, feelings that took advantage of the quiet darkness to roam through her head. The mix of frustration, anger, fear and helplessness that had been constantly with her since she’d found her constable in the alley that continued to haunt her dreams – the sergeant had almost grown used to that. But there were others – pushed to the back of her mind and ignored during the day – that broke free during the inviting blackness and forced into her conscious mind, demanding acknowledgment.

There had been other times when one of her constables had been injured; it was the nature of the job. But Rachel had never reacted like this. She’d never felt compelled to spend over twelve hours at the hospital, waiting for them to wake up. She’d never let them cry themselves to sleep on her shoulder. She’d never wanted to hurt the perpetrators. She’d wanted them caught, naturally, wanted them brought to justice, but to actually physically harm them as she’d done to Cassidy? That was unprecedented, and in the darkness of her room, Rachel had felt safe enough to poke at that reaction, to see where it stemmed from, and secure enough to admit to herself that there was something more to it than merely concern for a colleague.

Millie. Rachel had been unable to leave her at the hospital, and had spent the majority of her time there just listening to the constable breathe. She’d told herself that it was because they still weren’t sure what had happened, that whoever had done it might come back, and at the time that had been enough. Just as when she’d slammed Jake into the car, she’d told herself that the rush of satisfaction had been from catching him, not from the pain she’d caused him. Just as when she’d woken up earlier that night with the fading heat of the constable’s body on hers, she’d told herself that she’d missed the warmth because of the chill in the air, not because for one brief moment, between sleeping and waking, it had seemed absurd to wake up any other way.

But in the cool blackness of the night, as all her rationalisation crumbled around her, Rachel had been forced to admit there was another motive, some other reason she couldn’t get what happened to Millie out of her head. So she kept digging, and found an answer that deep down, she’d already known. There was something there, under all the justifications. An attraction, too small to be called infatuation, but definitely something. She, Rachel Weston, had feelings for Mille Brown.

Thus acknowledged, Rachel had resolved to ignore her newly realised feelings. Even if there hadn’t been rules against it, and in the unlikely event the constable felt anything for her in return, taking advantage of Millie’s vulnerable state would be unforgivable. So the sergeant had put her feelings in a box, and put that box in the back of her mind, aware of its existence but determined to supress it.

That had all gone out the window in the cold light of morning, when Millie wandered into her kitchen looking sleep-tousled, exhausted, and absolutely gorgeous. Rachel hadn’t been ready for how her freshly recognised affections would change how she saw the constable, and seeing her in this new light had momentarily cracked her defences. Rachel was infinitely grateful that Stone had arrived when he did, interrupting the moment before she’d done something foolish.

A quick knock on the door brought Rachel out of her thoughts, and she jerked her head up and twisted around to see Ben poke his head into the office.

“Sarge, there’s reports of kids smashing windows on Rigden Street; the inspector said me ‘n you should take it.”

Rachel nodded and stood, mentally walling off her contemplation and slipping back into sergeant mode. “Just let me grab my things, I’ll meet you in the yard.”

**…**

“Did they say which house?” Rachel asked her constable as they slowly rolled down Rigden Street.

“Number eleven, the caller said,” Ben replied, slowing the IRV to read the numbers on the houses. “Ah, here.”

They pulled over in front of a neglected-looking house. Most of the windows were boarded up, and Rachel couldn’t see or hear any signs of disturbance. In fact, the whole street was unusually quiet. The only strange thing she noticed was the number of For Sale and For Lease signs dotted along the street.

“Unpopular neighbourhood?” She muttered to Ben, nodding towards the signs. The constable looked around, and recognition flashed across his face.

“Yeah, there was an incident in a house just down the street last year; some nutter broke in and killed the family that lived there.”

Rachel nodded, having read the case file when she’d been going through Millie’s records. “We caught the guy, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but it spooked the neighbours. Most of them moved, this whole street’s been for sale since the murders.”

Rachel nodded absently as they reached the front door, her concentration diverted by her growing suspicion. The only window that wasn’t boarded up was intact, and Rachel couldn’t hear or see anything that indicated kids had been causing mischief.

“Can you hear anything?” She asked Ben, looking around as they reached the front door.

“No, Sarge.”

“Yeah, me neither.” She hammered on the door. “Police! Anyone in there?” Both officers stopped to listen, but there was no sound of running feet, no cries of alarm. Rachel tried the handle, but the door was locked. “Go check around back,” she told Ben, crouching down to look through mail slot. The narrow opening granted her a view of a hallway, empty but otherwise untouched. Rachel straighten and pounded on the door again, and after getting no response she backed up, frowning up at the building and feeling her irritation rising. The only un-boarded window was on the first floor, too high to see anything useful. Approaching the house again, she tried peering through a crack between the board over the window and the wall, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness beyond. A moment later, her radio crackled into life.

_“25 from 795, there’s nothing around here, Sarge. Door’s locked, nothing broken, over.”_

_“Received 795. Come back around the front.”_ Rachel sighed. Hoax calls were a nuisance at any time, but the sergeant was truly not in the mood for it today. She backed up, peering at the other houses on the street as Ben reappeared beside her.

“What d’you reckon, Sarge? Someone playing silly buggers?”

She nodded, heading back towards their car. “Yeah. There’s nothing here. C’mon, we’ve got more important things to do today.”

**…**

The rest of the shift was no less frustrating than that first call. Rachel and Ben spent the next couple of hours patrolling before they got a call to an RTC. That in itself was not uncommon, but in this case, the driver at fault had been a local politician, which had complicated things immensely. The man couldn’t have answered a question properly if his life depended on it, and Rachel had been in no mood to play word games. Then the media had got hold of the story, it had turned into a bit of a circus. Tired and irritated as she was, Rachel had been more than happy to kick the case up to CID, though she’d deliberately given it to Banksy, who she knew wasn’t working on Millie’s case. Then, leaving Ben with detective to help out, she’d returned to the sergeants’ office to tackle her stack of paperwork. Glaring at the pile in her in-tray, the sergeant first dug around in her desk for some change, retrieving a coffee from the machine before resigning herself to being station-bound for the afternoon.

Hours later, the pile was significantly smaller, and Rachel was considering giving up for the day. The clock on the computer indicated that her shift had ended a while back, and the muffled sounds from the briefing room told her that the night shift had been released and were on their way out to the yard. The words in front of her were starting to blur together, and after she realised she’d read the same sentence three times without taking in any of it, Rachel decided to call it quits.

She changed out of her uniform mechanically, and was heading past the inspectors office on her way out the front when a voice called out behind her. “Rachel!”

She stopped and backtracked to stand at the door. “Ma’am?”

“Come in,” Gina said from behind her desk, wearing what Smithy had described once as her ‘inspector face’. The sergeant took a seat across from her slightly apprehensively, feeling like a schoolgirl called in front of the principal. “You dealt with Mr York this morning, correct?”

York was the politician from the RTC. Rachel mentally braced herself for a reprimand, knowing that – while she’d made an effort to stay polite – her mood had caused her to be fairly short with the man. “Yes Ma’am and I apologise if my conduct reflected badly…”

Gina gave her a strange look. “On the contrary, he’s asked me to pass on his compliments. He was very impressed with the way you handled the press.”

“Oh. Thank you, Ma’am.”

The inspector stood and moved around to perch on the edge of her desk, a look of profound understanding on her face. “Are you okay, Rachel? You’ve not been yourself, these last few days.”

Sitting there, under her sympathetic gaze, the usually private sergeant was struck by the desire to talk to someone – anyone – and Rachel nearly told her everything. After all, hadn’t she been encouraging Millie not to bottle everything up? And from some of the stories she’d heard about Sun Hill from before her time, it would not be the first time Gina was on the receiving end of such a confession. The sergeant drew in a breath, but at the very last second, she chickened out.

“I’m… just not sleeping well, lately, Ma’am.”

The inspector looked like she knew that Rachel had been about to say something else, but she didn’t push. “Well, I’m here if you need to talk.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Rachel stood and left the office, feeling Gina’s concerned eyes on her back.

**…**

Another restless night later Rachel was back in the station. Though she’d slept somewhat better that evening, at least in comparison to the last few nights, the sergeant still had the beginnings of a headache pounding behind her eyes. She was mostly running on autopilot as she changed into her uniform, and after ducking into the sergeants’ office to check her computer, she headed for the briefing room to make sure it was set up for the morning shift. As she passed the locker room, Rachel glanced in, more out of habit than any real prompting. She was a few paces down the hall before her brain identified the figure that had been standing in there and she did a double take, retracing her steps and looking into the room properly.

“Millie?” The constable was standing in front of the mirror, ostensibly fixing her tie, but Rachel had noticed the glassy look in her eye before she’d interrupted.

At the sound of her name, Millie flinched and spun around, but her face relaxed into a smile when she saw Rachel. That smile had the same effect on her as it had in the kitchen, sending a tingling rush down the sergeant’s spine and momentarily taking her breath away. Rachel was better prepared for her own reaction this time, though, and her mask stayed in place as she was struck by an intense desire to hug the constable. She ignored it, instead shifting to lean against the doorframe and cross her arms.

“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t expected Millie to come back to work so quickly.

“The doctor cleared me for light duties.” The constable shrugged. “I was going crazy at Katie’s place, so…”

“And the inspector okayed it?”

Something dark flashed briefly across Millie’s face. “Yes, but she made it clear I wasn’t to go anywhere near CID.”

The bitterness in her tone surprised the sergeant, and Rachel drew in a breath to reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of Sally and Mel. The two constables gave her a cursory greeting as they passed, but upon noticing who else was in the room, they became more animated.

“Millie!” Sally exclaimed, moving forward to hug her. Millie welcomed the contact without flinching, which Rachel took as a good sign, but she was still bothered by that shadow that had flashed through the constable’s eyes. She couldn’t ask her about it now, though. Sally and Mel were showing no signs of leaving their red-haired colleague alone, and as she heard more of the relief arriving behind her, Rachel resigned herself to waiting to continue their conversation.

**…**

Millie entered the briefing room fifteen minutes later in the middle of a mob of officers, her smile firmly in place. Her arm was linked with Sally’s, and when Leon turned to say something that made the others laugh, Millie grinned and playfully yanked his tie off, tossing it over his head to Mel. Her demeanour was so different from the last few days that Rachel was almost certain it was at least partially an act, but act or not, seeing the return of a smiling, cheerful Millie eased some of the concern simmering in the back of her mind.

“Alright, settle down!” Rachel was drawn out of her contemplation by the inspector striding into the room behind the last few stragglers. Rachel frowned as she took up her usual position off to the side; Smithy hadn’t arrived yet, which was unusual, but Gina didn’t comment on it.

“Right, you lot…” the inspector began as the last few murmurs died down. “First things first, I think we’d all like to offer a warm welcome back to PC Brown, who is back on duty as of today.” There was a collective cheer from the gathered officers, and Leon wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a half hug as Millie blushed slightly and smiled. “She’ll be on light duties for a few days, but it’s good to have you back, Millie.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” she murmured, glancing briefly down at her hands. Rachel caught that same, dark flash in her eyes when Gina mentioned light duties, but when the constable looked up again her face was clear.

Gina was talking again, but Rachel found that her attention kept sliding back to Millie. That quick, ugly flare in the constable’s expression worried her. It suggested that Millie wasn’t quite as okay as she was pretending, and Rachel found the concern for her very distracting. There was also the other thing, the thing that was spreading warmth through her chest at the sight of Millie’s smile, the thing Rachel had been trying not to think about. The constable caught Rachel watching her once, and when their eyes met, the sergeant’s mind flicked back to the moment in the kitchen. Forcing the down the blush she felt rising on her cheeks, Rachel refocused her attention on the briefing in time to hear her own name.

“Smithy’s duty officer, Sergeant Weston’s in custody. Any problems, it goes that way. That’s it.” The inspector waved a hand, dismissing the gathered officers, but Rachel was surprised. Putting her in custody – where she’d also put Millie – suggested that Gina might have more insight into her mood than Rachel had given her credit for.

Realising that the room was nearly empty, Rachel followed the last few stragglers out and headed for the sergeants’ office to deposit the stab vest that she wouldn’t need. Moments later, Smithy emerged from the upper level and followed her into the office.

“You missed the briefing,” Rachel informed him, before noticing his expression. “What’s wrong?”

Smithy sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Jake Cassidy slipped his surveillance team last night.”

“What? How?” Rachel’s mind instantly flashed to Millie, and with a flicker of relief, she realised that being at work was probably the safest place for the constable to be.

“Ducked out the back of a take-away shop,” Smithy began to explain, but Rachel stopped listening when she caught sight of Max standing in front of the coffee machine.

“Max!” She called, stalking out of the office with Smithy not far behind. “You lost Jake Cassidy?”

The DS seemed unconcerned. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

“I said that releasing him was a bad idea. What if he goes after Millie again?” Rachel hissed, aware that the woman in question was somewhere nearby and trying to keep her voice down.

“He won’t.” He turned to face them, coffee in hand. “Look, Rachel, it was a gamble. We lost. We’ve got someone sitting on his house, someone’s going round his known associates. We’ll find him and bring him back in. Until then, don’t worry. Millie will be fine.”

Any reply Rachel might have had was cut off when Arun cautiously approached the obviously annoyed officers. “Umm, Sarge?”

“What?” The three sergeants answered simultaneously with varying amounts of irritation, turning to face him as he recoiled slightly at their tones.

Despite their manner, the constable couldn’t keep the small, vicious small from his face. “Jake Cassidy’s in Canley General with knife wounds to his arms and face. He won’t tell the nurses what happened, but I think we can guess.”

“He went after his mate from the club and came off second best,” Rachel suggested, turning to Smithy and ignoring the smug expression on Max’s face. “Can you cover custody for an hour?”

“Where’re you going?” He asked, as Rachel disappeared into their office and remerged with her vest.

“Canley General,” she called back over her shoulder as she headed for the yard, beckoning Arun to follow her and shooting Max a pointed look. “I wanna get there before he pulls another vanishing act.”


	13. Chapter 13

After a quick consultation with an obviously overworked nurse, Rachel selected a bed and pulled the curtain back sharply, startling the man within.

“Oh great, it’s you again,” Cassidy moaned when he recognised her. “Can’t you people just leave me alone?”

“Not a chance, Jake. You ready to tell us who your mate is yet?”

“I told you before, I can’t. We didn’t do the whole names thing. Besides, look at me! I ain’t going anywhere near that psycho ever again if I can help it.”

Rachel had to admit that he did look bad. There were bandages around both his arms, and several cuts littered his face. However, the fact that they were eerily similar to Millie’s injuries wasn’t lost on the sergeant, and the vaguely poetic justice of it all was stopping her from feeling much sympathy for him.

“So it was the other guy from the club that did this, then?” Arun asked him.

“Yeah, bloody psycho. I was just minding my own business, getting a bite to eat and then suddenly he’s there, saying he’ll gut me if I don’t go out the back with him. Then, before I get a chance to explain anything, he just comes at me.”

“How did he find you?” Cassidy looked away and mumbled something, testing Rachel’s already strained patience. “Jake….”

“I may have… lifted his phone at the club,” he admitted almost sheepishly. “It was just as collateral! I was gonna give it back, I swear!”

“The phone we took off you when you were arrested?” Rachel asked incredulously. “That was his? Why the hell didn’t you tell us that?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

But Rachel wasn’t done. “Of all the stupid…Do you know how useful that would have been? We could have him in custody by now!”

“Well, you had just used my ribcage to dent one of your lovely cars; I wasn’t feeling all that charitable,” the injured man retorted, crossing his arms then wincing as the movement pulled on his stitches.

Rachel took a deep breath and rubbed her aching eyes with one hand, feeling her patience run out and trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Do you still have the phone?” She asked, unclenching her teeth with some effort.

“Of course I don’t have it. First thing I did when he came charging at me with that knife was to give it back. Didn’t stop him from using my face as a whetstone.”

“Okay, you’re coming back to the station with us. Can you go and find out when he can be discharged, please?” the sergeant asked Arun, who nodded and headed off to the nurse’s station.

“Wait, what? You can’t arrest me, I’m the victim here!”

“You just admitted to theft. Or I could call the officers we’ve had following you since your release and have them list the dozen or so bail conditions that you’ve broken.”

“Following me? And they let him do this to me?” Cassidy exclaimed.

“They lost you when you left the shop,” Rachel told him as Arun returned.

“The nurse said he’s good to go. They need the bed, apparently.”

“Right,” Rachel said, moving to grab Jake’s arm and haul him up. “Jake Cassidy, I’m arresting you for theft…”

**…**

The drive back to the station was not a quiet one. Cassidy spent most of the time loudly declaring his intent to sue them for failing to stop his attack, ignoring Rachel’s repeated instructions to shut up. His endless diatribe wasn’t helping the sergeant’s headache, and having to deal with both the suspect and her head screaming at her meant that by the time they got back to the yard, she was keen to get Cassidy away from her as quickly as possible and dragged him into the custody suite without a second thought.

Sergeant and suspect both saw Millie at the same time, and Cassidy fell silent as Rachel swore and yanked him to a stop. Millie, standing with Smithy behind the desk, looked up at the movement and her expression froze as the blood drained from her face when she saw Cassidy at the same time as he recognised her. There was a moment of frozen silence, then the door slammed shut behind them and chaos erupted.

“Millie! I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry!” Jake yelled, struggling violently to get free as Millie turned and fled, pushing her way through the doors that led to the rest of the station. Rachel, unprepared for Cassidy’s sudden resistance, lost her grip on him briefly, but Smithy had come out from behind the counter and caught him before he got very far. Arun seized his other arm as he continued to writhe and yell, and together they forced him towards the cells.

“We’ve got him, go check on Millie,” Smithy yelled over the noise and Rachel ran, catching the door before it shut and chasing her constable into the station.

She caught up to her outside the empty sergeants’ office. “Millie, wait! In here.” Rachel ushered her inside and closed the door. “I’m sorry, Millie, that was my fault…” The sergeant muttered, moving to shut the other door before turning to face the constable.

She was standing next to Rachel’s desk with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was pale, and though she wasn’t shaking, she was swaying slightly on her feet. Rachel moved to stand in front of her and slipped her hands onto the constable’s shoulders to steady her, resisting the urge to embrace her as Millie shivered slightly at the contact.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute, I’m fine…” Millie muttered, but the way she was struggling to control her breathing said otherwise and the sergeant felt a stab of guilt for causing her distress.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rachel murmured, moving half a step closer and sliding her hands down to rub the constable’s biceps. “I’m sorry, Millie, I wasn’t thinking…”

Millie made a dismissive noise in her throat, then closed the distance between their bodies and dropped her head onto her sergeant’s shoulder, pressing her eyes into the crook of her neck and wrapping her arms loosely around her waist. Surprised by the move, Rachel automatically moved a hand to Millie’s back and began rubbing small circles over her shoulder blades, trying to ignore the rush of heat down her spine from having the constable so close. There was a small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that they were at work and this was fairly inappropriate, but the feeling of Millie’s tears dampening her collar stopped her from stepping back.

They stayed like that as Millie’s breathing evened out, and eventually the constable lifted her head. Her eyes were wet and red-rimmed, but there were no fresh tears as she spoke.

“I’m sorry, Sarge, I…” She murmured, but Rachel shook her head with a small smile.

“Stop apologising, it’s fine.” Millie’s fringe had fallen down to cover part of her face, and Rachel, almost without thinking, reached up a hand and brushed it back. Her breath hitched slightly in her throat as their eyes met properly and the sergeant realised how close they actually were. Millie had moved back a few inches when she’d lifted her head, but her hands had stayed on the sergeant’s hips, and she was still near enough for Rachel to count the tears clinging to her eyelashes. Realising where she was and what she was doing, Rachel tried to pull her hand away, but Millie caught her wrist gently to stop the movement. Rachel’s hand froze at the contact, hovering centimetres above Millie’s pale skin.

“Millie…” She breathed, though Rachel herself was unsure if it was a warning or encouragement. Her head and her heart were warring inside her, and Rachel was frozen; unable to pull away as she knew she should. The constable’s thumb was tracing random patterns on the inside of her wrist, and the sensation was sending a tingling rush up the sergeant’s arm, distracting the voice that was telling this was a bad idea.

“Rachel, I…” Millie whispered, and the hand still resting on the sergeant’s waist tightened its grip as Rachel’s hand closed the distance of its own accord and cupped her cheek. The constable’s other hand slid up to cover her own as the sergeant’s thumb gently wiped away the remaining moisture under one eye and Rachel found herself, for the second time in as many days, utterly unsure of what the hell she was doing.

The moment was broken before it could go further when both women heard a quick knock followed by the door handle rattling. They pulled away from one another, putting a more platonic distance between them as Arun burst into the room. “Millie! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the constable snapped, the anger in her tone surprising both Arun and Rachel.

Arun opened his mouth to speak again, but Rachel interrupted him. “Where’s Cassidy?”

“Sergeant Smith’s dealing with him. Millie—”

“Go and get the FME to check him out,” Rachel interrupted him again, wanting to get him out of the room. “Make sure he didn’t hurt himself when he was flailing around.”

Arun looked like he wanted to protest, but Rachel shot him a look. “Yes Sarge,” he finally muttered, leaving the office and shutting the door.

Alone with Millie again, Rachel suddenly felt far too warm, and began fumbling with the zipper of her vest, taking the opportunity to try and calm her racing heart. Wriggling out of the heavy garment, she dropped it on her desk then turned back to face her constable. Millie had moved away from the door, towards Smithy’s desk, and was standing with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her stance was defensive, and the anger was still flashing through her eyes. For a moment, Rachel worried that it had something to do with what happened before Arun burst in, but dismissed the notion after a bit of thought. The constable’s expression was too similar to what she’d seen flash across her face in the briefing room that morning, and convinced Rachel that there was something else going on.

“Mille, what’s wrong?” The sergeant asked finally.

“Nothing,” she answered, far too quickly.

“Really? You were fairly short with Arun, just now.”

The constable was silent for a moment, then, “I’m just really sick of that question. Sarge.” Rachel was sure that wasn’t the whole story, but before she could press the issue, Millie spoke again. “Can we go back to custody? I’m fine.”

Rachel hesitated, surprised. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be in there while he’s here, Millie. Why don’t you swap with someone in IBO for the shift? The inspector won’t mind.”

Millie shook her head. “I’d rather stay.”

“I don’t think—” Rachel started, but the constable cut her off.

“I’m _fine_ , Sarge. I don’t need a babysitter.” The anger was sparking in her eyes and tone again, and Rachel winced inwardly.

“Millie…” The constable shot her another look, and Rachel gave up, telling herself it was better to have Millie somewhere she could keep an eye on her. “Okay. But give us ten minutes to process him, alright? Wait here.”

“I can handle it, Sarge,” Millie replied, but Rachel shook her head.

“It’s not about that, Millie. You can’t have any contact with him.”

“Fine,” the constable finally muttered, dropping into the chair at Rachel’s desk. That new, venomous anger was still simmering in her eyes, and it was with great reluctance that Rachel left her in the office and headed back to custody.

**…**

After the FME had checked Cassidy to make sure he hadn’t ripped any of his stitches, Rachel finished processing him and deposited him in the cell furthest from the desk. He’d calmed down somewhat, but had spent most of the time begging anyone who would listen to let him see Millie, to apologise.

“You want to show Millie you’re sorry? Tell us everything,” the sergeant told him as she guided him into his cell and slammed the heavy door behind him.

“Right, now that’s sorted, I’ll be off,” Smithy told her, locking the gate and handing Rachel the custody keys. “Do you want me to let CID know they’ve got a visitor?”

“Yeah, thanks, Smithy,” the blonde sergeant murmured, taking his place behind the counter. “Oh, can you let Millie know she can come back here now? I left her in our office.”

Smithy turned, surprised. “You’re letting her stay here? I thought she’d wanna go to IBO or the front desk.”

Rachel shook her head. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted.” There was concern on the other sergeant’s face. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Smithy still looked unsure, but a few moments after he left, Millie reappeared. There was still a slight redness around her eyes, but it was barely noticeable. Her face was set in an impassive mask, with no sign of that earlier, bitter anger, but the blankness in the usually open constable’s expression worried Rachel almost as much.

**…**

After a couple of quiet, boring hours – during which Millie had barely spoken a word – Jo and Max strode through the doors, trailing the duty solicitor behind them.

“Alright Millie?” Max nodded in greeting, getting a half-hearted smile in return. “Can you get Jake Cassidy for us, Rachel?” Out of the corner of her eye, the sergeant saw Millie stiffen at the mention of that name.

“Millie, go on refs,” Rachel murmured, wanting her out of custody before she let Cassidy go anywhere.

Anger flashed through the PC’s eyes again, and for a moment she looked like she was going to refuse, but at another pointed look from her sergeant she turned, stalking towards the door and disappearing, Rachel hoped, in the direction of the canteen as the sergeant led Max over to the row of cells.

Checking the small window and seeing Jake laying safely on the bed, she unlocked the door and let the DS in.

“Can I talk to PC Brown?” Jake asked immediately, standing up and allowing Max to lead him by the arm.

“No,” the two sergeants answered simultaneously, towing him from the cell and out to the main area.

The two detectives gave Cassidy five minutes with his lawyer in the solicitor’s office before leading him into the interview room and shutting the door. Rachel was tempted to watch from the observation room, but was distracted by the arrival of Leon and Beth, dragging two obviously drunk women in from the yard.

Dealing with the two prisoners took longer than Rachel expected, and she was just returning to the custody desk after putting them in their cells when the door to the interview room opened and Max stormed out, stomping off in the direction of CID as Jo towed Cassidy from the room and over towards the sergeant.

“Did he give you anything?” Rachel asked the DC after depositing Jake back in his cell and getting Beth to escort his lawyer back to the front desk.

“A headache. And some suggestions that I’m pretty sure are anatomically impossible,” Jo replied, pulling a face.

“Charming.” Rachel had guessed as much from Max’s grumpy exit, but hearing it was disheartening. “So much for wanting to make it up to Millie.”

“I don’t think he knows much more than he’s already told us, to be honest,” Jo said, leaning on the desk. “Max went after him pretty hard, and he seems genuinely upset about the whole thing.”

Rachel drew in a breath to reply, but was interrupted by Max poking his head through the door to the rest of the station.

“Jo!” he called, obviously still in a bad mood. “C’mon.”

The DC pulled a face at Rachel, but pushed off the desk and followed Max from the custody suite as the blonde sergeant’s attention was diverted by the arrival of another prisoner.

**…**

The remainder of the shift dragged on. Millie reappeared not long after Jo left, though she continued with her stony silence, and they were never alone long enough for Rachel to initiate the conversation they wanted – needed – to have. Instead, she focused on her paperwork, and though the sergeant did occasionally feel Millie’s eyes on her, neither of them spoke.

Eventually, the shift ended, and after doing the handover to the night sergeant, Rachel hurried to the locker room, hoping to catch Millie before she left. Unfortunately, the room was empty except for Mel, who told her that Millie had changed quickly and was already gone. Frustrated but resigned to having to speak to her another time, Rachel changed out of her uniform and headed for the front office.

There was a teenager at the front desk, talking to Nate, but Rachel paid him no mind as she walked past him. She was almost out the door when Nate’s voice called after her.

“Sarge!”

Rachel turned, and nearly ran into the boy as he tried to rush past her. She caught him reflexively as Nate jumped over the desk and moved to grab his other arm.

“Stop struggling, you’re not in trouble! We just need to talk to you,” Nate told the teen as the two officers manoeuvred him back into the station.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asked the constable as the boy slowly calmed in their grip.

“He was trying to deliver that to Millie,” the PC responded, nodding towards the front desk.

Making sure Nate had a firm hold on the boy, Rachel released his other arm and approached the desk, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. On the desk was a small embossed card, and Rachel recognised it as being the same as the one that had been left in Millie’s apartment. Reaching over the desk, the sergeant retrieved a pen and used it to move the card so she could read the ornate font.

_I hope you liked my gift. Try to keep him locked up this time._

**…**

“Nate, where’s Millie?” Rachel asked over her shoulder, feeling ice flood through her veins.

“I think she went for a drink with the others, Sarge,” the constable replied, towing the teen over to stand next to her. The boy had stopped resisting Nate’s hold, but he still looked terrified.

“Who with, do you know?” The sergeant pulled out her phone as she asked.

“She left with Sally and Beth.”

“Right, take him in there and call DS Carter,” Rachel ordered as she scrolled through her contacts, nodding towards the front interview room.

“Yes Sarge,” Nate muttered, guiding the teen across the front office as Rachel found the number she was searching for and hit call.

_“Sarge?”_

“Hi Sally, is Millie with you?”

_“Yeah, I’ll get her for you…”_

“No no, it’s okay. I just…I need you to make sure she gets back to her sister’s safely.”

The noise in the background faded as Sally moved away from the others. _“What’s going on, Sarge?”_

“It might be nothing; I don’t want to worry her…” The sergeant let out an indecisive breath as out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eddie coming down the stairs from CID. He was heading for the front door, but Rachel caught his arm and motioned him to wait. “Can you just make sure one of you gets her home? Don’t let her go by herself.”

_“Of course, Sarge. Don’t worry about it.”_

“Thanks Sally. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Rachel hung up, then turned to Eddie.

“Sergeant Weston, I always said that uniform didn’t do you justice,” he said with his usual charming smile, but became more serious when he noticed her expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Someone just dropped this off for Millie,” the sergeant told him, leading him over to the front desk. “Can you get someone to process it?”

“I’ll do it myself,” he told her, extracting a pair of gloves and an evidence bag from his pocket. “Always keep a spare set on me,” he explained at her questioning look, snapping the gloves on and gingerly picking the card up and turning it over. “Well it’s the same paper as the other one. I’ll get it dusted for prints and check for DNA.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” The CSE waved over his shoulder at her as he disappeared back into the station. Rachel headed into the front interview room, where she found Nate sitting opposite the boy, who still looked terrified.

“I told you, I’ve never seen him before,” he was saying.

“Anything?” Rachel asked Nate as the constable stood.

“Sarge, this is Jesse Myrson. Says some bloke came up to him and offered him fifty quid if he’d deliver a note to PC Brown at Sun Hill. Claims he’s never seen him before.”

“I haven’t!” The boy protested, standing. “He just came up to me, I don’t know him!”

“It’s alright, Jesse, calm down. You’re not in trouble,” Rachel told him, guiding him back into the chair and taking Nate’s seat opposite him. “How old are you, Jesse?”

“Nearly fifteen. I swear I don’t know anything about that guy…”

“Don’t worry, we believe you. You did the right thing, bringing it here.” That seemed to ease Jesse’s fear, and he relaxed slightly into his seat as Rachel continued. “But now we need your help. Is there someone we can call for you? Your mum or dad maybe?”

He nodded. “My mum. She’ll be off work by now.”

“Okay. Give me her number and I’ll call her for you.” Rachel dug a pen out of her bag as the boy rattled off a number. Writing it on her hand, Rachel stood and motioned Nate to follow her as she moved towards the door. “Take him to the canteen and get him something to drink,” she told the PC quietly, hoping a more informal setting would relax the teen somewhat.

The PC nodded and disappeared back into the room as Rachel approached the front desk, reaching over to grab the phone. She dialled the number, and waited as it rang.

_“Hello?”_

“Hello, is this Ms Myrson?”

_“Yes, who’s this?”_

“Sergeant Weston from Sun Hill police station. We’ve got your son Jesse here helping—” Rachel began, but the woman on the other end cut her off.

_“Oh god, is he okay? What happened?”_

 “He’s not in any trouble, Ms Myrson. He’s here helping us with some enquiries. We were hoping you could come and sit in while we question him.”

_“God, yes, of course. I’ll be there soon.”_

Rachel thanked her and hung up, passing the phone back to the reception officer and motioning for him to buzz her into the station.


	14. Chapter 14

Jesse’s mother arrived a little while later, and Rachel guided them both into the soft interview room. Though her shift had ended and she was technically off-duty, Rachel had no intention of going home without following the note up. Max hadn’t answered his phone when she’d called, and the sergeant wasn’t prepared to ask the teenager and his mother to wait while she tracked him down. Instead, she’d asked Nate to join her and take notes, as she was still out of uniform and didn’t have her notebook on her.

“Alright, Jesse, can you tell us what happened?” Rachel asked once they were all seated.

“This guy came up to me ‘n my mates after school,” the teen started. “He said he’d pay one of us fifty quid if we’d take a note to Sun Hill police station.”

“Jesse, what have I told you about taking things from strangers?” His mother asked him, looking horrified.

“Mrs Myrson, please,” Rachel interrupted, holding up a placating hand as the woman muttered an apology and fell silent. “Go on, Jesse.”

“My mates all thought he was a perv, but I wasn’t scared, so I said I’d do it.” He glanced briefly at his mum, but when she didn’t say anything, he continued. “He gave me the money and the note and said I had to tell you it was for PC Brown, and then he left.”

“Can you describe him?” The boy shrugged. “Was he white?”

“Yeah. He had brown hair. He was shorter than you,” he said, looking at Nate, then shrugging again. “He was just normal-looking.”

“Would you recognise him if you saw him again?” The teen nodded. “Good. Where did he approach you?”

“We were at the skate park near school. He just walked up to us.”

“And you’re sure you’ve never seen him before? You’ve not seen him hanging around the school or the skate park?”

The boy shook his head. “I told you before, I haven’t.”

“That’s okay. This is really helpful, Jesse.” The teen smiled bashfully at her. “You said you were with some mates?” He nodded. “We’ll need their names.”

“Why?” he asked, suddenly defensive.

“They’re not in trouble, Jesse. One of them might have seen something you didn’t. We just need to talk to them.”

He didn’t reply, and his mother nudged his shoulder. “Jesse, tell her!”

The boy hesitated for another moment, but eventually gave in under his mother’s glare and rattled off five names.

“Thank you, Jesse.” Rachel smiled at him as Nate scribbled the names into his notebook. “Okay, just a few more things. PC Roberts is going to take you to the fingerprint lab, and I’m going to get some photos for you to look at. Is that okay?”

Jesse’s mother bristled slightly. “Why do you need his fingerprints? He hasn’t done anything!”

“Just for comparison, Mrs Myrson. He touched the note, so we need his prints to eliminate them,” Rachel explained. “They won’t be put into the system.”

That seemed to satisfy the woman. They all stood, and Nate led mother and son towards custody as Rachel headed for CID to grab one of the WADS laptops.

She took Jesse through the photos twice, but to no avail. The teen was adamant the man wasn’t there, and Rachel was inclined to believe him. Hiding her frustration behind a professional façade, Rachel gave Jesse her card, with instructions to call her if he remembered anything else or saw the man again, then told one of the PC’s to drive him and his mother home.

“You should go home too, Sarge,” Nate suggested as they watched the Mrysons leave.

She sighed. The constable was right, there wasn’t much more she could do. They wouldn’t be able to talk to Jesse’s friends or chase down the CCTV of the skate park until tomorrow anyway, and the inspector was likely to scold her if she caught the sergeant in the station this long after her shift had finished. So, reluctantly, the sergeant headed for the front office again and unwillingly made her way home.

Later that night, the sergeant was just drifting off to sleep when her phone beeped from its position on the bedside table. Blinking at the bright light in the darkness, Rachel squinted at the text from Sally and smiled.

_Safely home, Sarge._

**…**

Rachel was not having a good morning. She’d arrived at the station and found Eddie in the sergeants’ office in the process of writing her a note. He’d told her that they were still waiting on the DNA, but the only prints on the note had belonged to Jesse and Nate. Moments after the CSE left, the inspector had called her into her office and informed her that, because Smithy was in court and she’d been called to a meeting at the Yard that would likely last all day, Rachel would be running the shift. Normally, Rachel enjoyed being duty officer, but today it meant being out on the streets when she would rather have been in CID, following up on what Jesse had told them, or in custody, keeping an eye on Millie. She’d seen the constable only momentarily that morning, during the briefing, and Millie hadn’t met her eye once. She disappeared in the direction of custody as soon as Gina released them, and Rachel got the distinct impression she was being avoided.

Before the sergeant could follow her constable and question her about her behaviour, Ben had caught her and told her there was another call out to the address in Rigden Street they’d been to two days ago, this time saying that there was smoke coming from somewhere in the house. Feeling frustrated, she had followed the constable to the yard.

There was nothing there, again. The property was undisturbed, and there was no sign of either the fire or whoever had called them. Rachel was getting truly annoyed at whoever kept calling them to this particular address, and she resolved to do some digging on it when they got back to the station.

Before they could do that, however, Sally and Leon had put out a call for back up at a domestic dispute, and Rachel was uneasy. Nobody liked dealing with domestics; they usually started ugly and only got worse, and the sergeant was mentally bracing herself for an unpleasant situation.

**…**

Contrary to Rachel’s fear, the scene they pulled up on seemed fairly calm. There were three people involved, a man and a woman who were standing with Sally, and a second man standing a way apart from them with Leon. Both men had fresh bruises on their face and arms, and the woman had obviously been crying. Rachel motioned for Ben to go help Leon as Sally stepped away from the couple and approached her.

“What’s the situation?” The sergeant asked, keeping her voice low enough that only Sally could hear her.

“Sarge, Body A is one Daniel Peters, and he’s the woman’s boyfriend or ex-boyfriend, depending on who you ask,” the constable explained quietly, indicating the man with Leon and Ben. “Body B is Body A’s brother, Mark, and is also claiming to be the woman’s boyfriend. Body A came home, caught them together and went after his brother with a crowbar. They were fighting over it when we got here.”

“Charming…” Rachel muttered, and Sally smiled wryly in agreement. “I take it the brother wants to press charges?”

“Yes, Sarge. He’s quite insistent.”

Rachel nodded, but any further discussion was cut off when Mark started forward to where his brother had dropped the crowbar, picked it up, and without apparent provocation, ran towards his brother, screaming.

Ben and Leon turned at Rachel’s shouted warning, and Leon pushed Daniel backwards as Ben drew his asp. Sally moved to grab the woman, who had run after Mark as he charged, while Rachel also flicked her baton out and ran to help Ben.

Out of reach of his original target, Mark instead turned on Ben and began swinging the crowbar with both hands. His first blow was powerful and, had the constable not dodged it, would have almost certainly cracked his skull open at the very least.  The crowbar had more reach than the asp, and Ben couldn’t risk getting close enough to strike back.

Luckily, Mark was so focused on his current target that he didn’t notice Rachel approaching him from behind. The sergeant swung her asp at his leg, hard, and was rewarded with a pained yelp as it connected with the back of his knee and he went down. Rachel was on him quickly, keeping him pinned with a knee on his back, and she had the handcuffs on him before he’d fully realised what had happened. He struggled violently for a moment, but Ben had added his weight to Rachel’s on the suspect’s back, and when he realised he couldn’t move, he settled for swearing at them.

“What the hell was that about?” The sergeant asked the man beneath her, and got a curse in return. She rolled her eyes at Ben. “Okay then, Mark Peters, I’m arresting you for attempted assault on police. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

“Fuck you!”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Are you alright?” she asked, turning her attention to Ben.

“Yeah, fine, Sarge. Didn’t touch me.”

“Good.” Rachel took a moment to assess the scene as her heart rate settled. Sally was still holding the woman, who was crying and shouting incoherent sounds at the two men. Leon had handcuffed the suspect’s brother as a precaution, but the man wasn’t resisting the grip on his arm. There was a small crowd of neighbours gathering a little way down the road, drawn by the flashing lights and commotion, and some of them had their phones out and were filming the scene.

Knowing that having an audience could serve to wind their captive up further, Rachel made a decision. “Okay, call a van for this one and get the other two in the cars. We’ll take them all down to the nick and sort it out there.”

“Sarge.” Ben nodded and stood, retrieving the crowbar and reaching for his radio while Mark, realising he couldn’t get out from under her, settled for spitting every obscenity he could think of. Rachel ignored him, instead focusing on the growing crowd down the street in case any of them decided to object to their neighbour being arrested.

The van arrived quickly, and with the driver’s help, they managed to force the still-raging suspect into the cage in the back. There were several loud bangs as he lashed out furiously, but he fell quiet as the driver started the engine.

“We’ll meet you at Sun Hill,” Rachel told him, and he nodded and pulled the van back onto the street. Leon and Sally had already put the other brother in their IRV, and they followed the van out of the street as Ben guided the woman into their car and Rachel dropped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

**…**

The drive back to Sun Hill was uneventful. The two IRVs followed the van into the yard and the officers got out, Ben and Leon dragging their captives with them. As they drew closer, Rachel could hear the echoing thuds of Mark kicking the back door of the van rhythmically. The driver of the van started towards the back, but Rachel motioned him to wait. “Leave him there until we process this one,” she said, nodding at Daniel. “Having them both in custody will probably wind him up.”

The driver nodded, and settled back against the vehicle as Leon dragged Daniel up the ramp and through the cage while Sally guided the woman into the station proper.

Rachel gave it about ten minutes before nodding to Ben. The constable retrieved their prisoner from the van, and together they hauled him up the ramp. Remembering the random and violent nature of his outburst at the scene, Rachel had put him in a hold, slipping her arm up under his to rest on his shoulder, forcing his arms up uncomfortably and making him walk hunched slightly forward. Ben had done the same on his other side.

“Fucking pigs! I ain’t don’t nothing!” He yelled, trying to struggle out of the hold Rachel had on him as they guided him through the cage and into the custody suite.

“You tried to kill my constable with a crowbar, Mr Peters. We frown on that sort of thing,” the sergeant retorted, increasing the pressure on his arms in an effort to still him.

“Well he fucking deserved it! Fucking pigs! I’ll kill you all!” He screamed, bucking violently in their grasp.

“Down! Get him down!” Rachel yelled to Ben, and together they forced the screaming suspect to the floor in the middle of the custody suite. Rachel knelt next to him, pressing her weight on his back with one knee and using the handcuffs to keep his arms still while Ben pinned his legs to stop him kicking out as Millie and Leon, who’d just finished depositing his own prisoner in a cell, came to help.

“Stop struggling,” Ben told Peters as Millie knelt beside Rachel and placed a hand on the side of the suspect’s face, preventing him from moving his head.

“Fuck you!”

“Leon, search him,” the sergeant ordered, and the PC began patting down their captive, checking his pockets as he continued to swear and snarl at them.

“Nothing else, Sarge,” Leon told her, having extracted his phone and wallet and handed them to the custody sergeant, who was hovering behind him.

“Right, let’s get him in a cell. Ready?” On the sergeant’s count, the four officers lifted Peters off the floor and carried him towards the cell the custody sergeant had unlocked for them. He wriggled violently in their grip, but without leverage, all it did was tire him out. The custody sergeant had pulled the thin mattress off the bed and onto the floor, and that’s where they deposited their captive, who’s swearing had degenerated into animalistic snarling noises of inarticulate rage. Ben quickly pinned his legs before he could dislodge them as Leon held his head and Millie restrained his arms, allowing Rachel to remove the handcuffs.   

As soon as the cuff were off, Peters tried to lash out, but Rachel and Millie each seized one of his arms and twisted them painfully, holding them up in the air behind his back and bending his wrists, forcing him to either lay still or risk dislocating his shoulder. Millie’s hold on him was rough, almost alarmingly so, and Rachel took a second to examine the constable. She was surprised to see the faint redness around her eyes that indicated recent tears, probably unnoticeable to anyone else, and her expression was hard and angry. Millie’s gaze flicked up briefly, and Rachel’s breath caught as their eyes met, but her attention was quickly diverted by the struggling man beneath them. He was still growling at them, but he was unable to move and Rachel could tell he was tiring. They didn’t have time to wait for him to exhaust himself, though, and the sergeant wanted to get out of the cell before they were forced to physically injure the man to keep him restrained.

“Okay, cell exit. Ready?” She asked her constables. They nodded, and Rachel stood carefully, taking control of his other arm from Millie and maintaining the crippling pressure on his wrists. The PCs backed out one by one, until Rachel was the only one still holding him. She stepped over him carefully, keeping his arms locked up behind him as she felt one of the constables catch hold of her belt, ready to yank her out when she gave the word. “Now!” She called, dropping his arms and backing up quickly, guided by whoever was pulling her backward. Ben slammed the cell door shut as soon as she was clear, and a moment later there was a dull thud as the suspect threw his weight against it.

“Nice one, Sarge,” Ben said, and Rachel smiled distractedly at him. Her heart was racing from the adrenaline coursing through her, and her attention had been diverted by the hand that was still tangled in her belt. Ben and Leon were in front of her, which meant it had been Millie who pulled her from the cell. She glanced over her shoulder, and felt fire shoot through her as she met Millie’s gaze. The expression on the constable’s face was unreadable, but Rachel could plainly see the heat in her eyes. Her hand slipped out of the sergeant’s belt, but it lingered on her lower back, under her vest and out of sight of the others and Rachel found herself paralysed, knowing she should move away but unable to.

Rachel drew in a breath, though she wasn’t sure what she would have said, but Leon clapped her on the shoulder and she remember that they weren’t alone. Changing what she was going to say, she smiled at the constables. “Well done. We’ll let him cool down for a while then process him.” She felt Millie jump behind her as a loud bang echoed from the cell, presumably Mark kicking the door, and the constable withdrew her hand and moved towards the gate. Rachel followed, trying to ignore the fact that she missed the warmth of Millie’s touch on her back.

**…**

Rachel gave Mark Peters an hour to calm down, and found him surprisingly co-operative when he wasn’t apoplectic with rage. The cases against the two brothers were fairly straightforward, and they both ended up being charged for assault and refused bail. The woman was tearfully apologetic, but Rachel couldn’t bring herself to feel much sympathy for her, and left it to Sally to get her home.

The remainder of the shift kept Rachel busy, but she did get a chance to duck briefly up to CID and catch up with Jo. The DC told her that they’d followed up with Jesse’s friends, and while none of them had seen or noticed anything more than what Jesse had already told them, they did manage to put together an e-fit that the boys agreed was fairly accurate. The CCTV hadn’t panned out, so the e-fit was all they had to go on. Jo told her that Max had shown it to Millie as well, and she’d confirmed that the person who gave Jesse the note was the same person who’d been in the alley. It also explained the constable’s earlier mood, and Rachel felt a flare of irritation at her CID counterpart for dropping that on her without making sure she was okay afterwards.

Rachel didn’t get another chance to talk to Millie, and by the time the sergeant had finished her paperwork, the constable was long gone. Rachel had a couple of days off, which meant she wouldn’t get another chance to talk to her constable, but short of going to her sister’s place – which Rachel was surprised to realise she didn’t fully trust herself to do – there was nothing she could do. Frustrated but resigned, the sergeant went home.

**…**

Without the need to get up early for work, Rachel slept late and woke feeling better than she had in days. She spent the day tinkering around the house, doing the little things that work usually left her too tired or unmotivated to do, and took advantage of her increased energy to visit the gym. She briefly entertained the idea of visiting Millie in the evening, but dismissed it, deciding that taking a couple of days to get her feelings worked out was probably best.

**…**

The shrill ringing of her mobile dragged Rachel back into consciousness. She opened her eyes blearily, tilting the clock on her bedside so she could read it before answering the phone. The digital display read 12.43am.

“Hello?”

_“Umm, Sergeant Weston? This is Katie. Millie’s sister.”_

Rachel sat up. Katie calling at that time of night could only mean bad things. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

 _“I’m sorry to wake you, but I didn’t know who else to call. It’s Millie, we had a fight and she left and she’s not answering her phone and I can’t find her and she isn’t back yet and—”_ Katie said in a rush, and it took Rachel a second to interpret the panicked speech.

 “Do you know where she went?” The sergeant was already half-way out of bed, trying to dress herself without dropping the phone.

_“She didn’t say! She’s never done this before; what if—”_

“Katie, try to relax. I’ll find her, okay? What time did she leave?”

_“Around 9.30, I think.”_

“That was over three hours ago! Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

_“I’m sorry, I was out looking for her, then I wasn’t sure if I should call you, then I couldn’t find your number, then—”_

“Katie, Katie, it’s not your fault. Just try to relax. Stay there, and call me if she turns up.” Rachel dropped into her car as she spoke, turning the key with her free hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll find her.”


	15. Chapter 15

You hate fighting with your sister. You always had, even when you were children. Though she’s younger than you, she was always the more dominate sibling because you would go along with what she said rather than argue. But now there’s something inside you, a dark, insidious thing made of fear and pain and rage that slithers under every thought, tainting you with anger. It’s been there since you left the hospital, but it’s getting stronger, growing from occasional twinges of bitterness to flares of fury and harsh, aggravated outbursts. It’s a darkness that sits in your chest and spits venom that bubbles through your veins, dripping from your words and poisoning everything it touches.

You had left Katie’s flat that night with the intention of clearing your head, getting that darkness out of your mind and under control. But your walk to the end of the street turned into a walk around the block. Then just to the next lamppost. Then the next, and the next, for out of every shadow, you could still see him looming towards you and that thing in your chest hisses. So you keep walking, trying to escape, to find somewhere that he can’t follow you. But he’s still in your head, swirling around and around, taunting you. He’s not alone in there, though. _She’s_ in there too, swirling in circles with him. She used to drive him away, but now she just adds to the turmoil, the guilt. You know you’re not being fair to her, that being angry with her is irrational, but without the anger, all you have is longing and confusion and fear. And you’re tired of being afraid.

You look around, taking notice of where your attempt to escape has taken you for the first time, and you’re surprised to find yourself outside the club where your nightmares took form. There are a few people outside, but it’s not busy. Your feet take you towards the door without any conscious thought from you. The bouncer looks for a moment like he’s going to stop you, but your hand is already flashing the warrant card you didn’t even realised you’d brought with you and he’s stepping back and waving you in. The bass is pounding through you, thumping through your ribcage as you move towards the bar. There are more people in here, but it’s as if you’re a ghost, floating through the room untouched by the movement around you.

You glance at the table in the corner, the quiet little spot where you’d spent so long with the charming guy who’d been lying through his teeth to you. For a moment, you see him there with the woman from your dream; that foolish, naïve girl who let him ply her with drinks and drag her out the back, and the thing in your chest hisses. But then you blink and your vision clears, and it’s not them, it’s just a group of guys doing shots. You shake your head, and continue drifting through the press of bodies towards the bar while the bass thrums through you, numbing your body and clouding your mind.

**…**

Hours later, you still sit at the bar in the club, close to where you sat last time when Jake first approached you. The music sounds the same; you’re nursing the same drink. Even your clothes are similar, you realise, and you begin to wonder if you’re doing it all over again to draw him out. To get him to come after you again so you can ask him why.

You shake off that thought as you take another sip. It’s a stupid idea anyway; you’re here to forget. It’s almost working, too. You still see him in your mind, see his face hovering over you, but he’s hazy, less distinct. It’s as if he’s watching you through a rain-soaked window, through a sheet of ice that he can’t quite break. He’s trying, though, reaching out towards you with a hand that your fear has reshaped into a claw. His face is more or less human, though, in stark contrast to what you’ve been picturing for the last few days. Your nightmares had built him into this grotesque, demonic creature, but seeing the e-fit that Max had shown you had reminded you that he was just a man.

And then there’s her. Where he’s all fuzzy curves and unclear shapes, she’s hard lines and exotic angles, like a mosaic constructed from a vague description of something beautiful. She’s just as untouchable as he is, though. You’ve drunk enough now to admit to yourself that you want her, probably more than you’ve wanted anyone else since you were a teenager, and there’s a tiny, frustratingly optimistic voice in the back of your mind that’s insisting that the desire is not one-sided. She had nearly kissed you that morning in the kitchen, it tells you, just as you had nearly kissed her in her office. And you had. For one brief, amazing moment, you had taken the other option, the unsafe one, and – had Arun not interrupted when he did – you would have pressed your lips against hers and damned the consequences. It terrified you, when you’d had time to think about it, and that terror – like most of your other recent emotion – had turned to anger when the darkness had slithered through you. So you’d avoided her, and felt guilty, because part of you welcomed the anger. It was easier than the longing and confusion it had replaced.

You don’t know how long you sit there or how many times the bartender replaces your glass. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket every now and then, the ringtone drowned out by the deafening music, but you don’t answer it. You’re not ready to. Your demeanour is drawing strange looks from the bartender, though, and you can tell he’s trying to decide what to do when suddenly, there’s a body behind you, a hand on your shoulder. Your first instinct is to flinch and shy away, but then you recognise the touch and relax. Then you remember you’re angry with her, and you stiffen again.

“Go away.”

Judging by Rachel’s tone of voice, she’s angry with you too. “Millie, it’s one-thirty in the morning. Your sister woke me up, frantic, because you hadn’t come home and you weren’t answering your phone. I was _this_ close to calling Stone and getting the troops out looking for you!”

You’d misjudged her tone, you realise suddenly; she was more scared than angry. Or at least, her anger was born of fear for you.

“And then I find you, sitting alone in the same club you were attacked in while the psycho that did it is still running around! You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, you’re not answering your phone, and you told your sister you’d be back hours ago!”

Her voice had been steadily rising in volume, and you take advantage of the pause when she stops for a breath. “I want him to come back.”

That surprises her out of her angry spiel. “What?”

You don’t – can’t – look at her as you speak, but the alcohol in your system is allowing you to admit things you’d barely considered sober. “I want him to come back. At least then I could ask him why. Nobody else can tell me.”

She’s silent, and you move to take another gulp of your drink, but she catches your arm and takes it from you before you can. You start to protest, but she cuts you off. “No. You’re obviously not dealing with this as well as you keep saying. You and I are going somewhere to talk where we don’t have to yell.”

You glare at her sullenly and repeat your first statement. “Go away.”

She still hasn’t let go of your arm, and her grip tightens as she moves closer to you. “Millie, please don’t make me drag you out of here,” she murmurs into your ear, and you shiver as her breath hisses over your skin before she straightens and you consider her words. You know in your current state, the sergeant would have no trouble getting you out of the club by force, so after one last, defiant sip, you slide off your stool. Unfortunately, your legs seem more affected by the alcohol than you’d realised, and Rachel’s hand quickly becomes more of a support than a restraint. She wraps her free arm around your waist as you stumble, and keeps it there as you leave.

The cold night air hits you like a slap, erasing that floating, detached atmosphere of the club and in two breaths, you feel almost sober. You know you’re not, though, because your legs are only obeying about half your instructions, and the world moves weirdly around you if you stop moving. You begin the slow, stumbling walk back to her car, and you can’t help but remember the last time she’d walked with you like this. Something flickers in your peripheral vision, like the flash of a camera, but for a moment you think it’s the lights of the ambulance and you’re back in that night, with the pain and the terror. She seems to know what you’re thinking, because her arm tightens around your waist and you can tell from her posture that she’s deliberately not looking at the alley that’s somewhere behind you.

You’re about halfway back to her car when a light rain begins to sprinkle down. You hadn’t had the presence of mind to grab a jacket when you’d stormed out of Katie’s house, and the water feels strange against your bare skin; tiny pinpricks of icy sensation in the alcohol induced numbness. The droplets are settling in her hair, too, catching the light from the club and the street lamps and making it look like she’s wearing a veil of shimmering colour. The effect is entrancing, and your steps falter and stop as you’re transfixed by the illusion. She turns her head to look at you, confused, and for a moment, all you can see is that glittering figure from your dream.

You hear her breath catch in her throat as you reach a hand up and run your fingers through a strand of that sparkling light. She freezes for a second under your touch, but then shakes her head and shifts her grip to your wrist, pulling your arm back down.

“C’mon, almost there,” she murmurs, tugging you back into motion with the arm around your waist.

She has to release your arm to retrieve her keys, and your skin tingles where her hand was. She unlocks the car and opens the passenger’s door, guiding you gently to sit in the seat, and you find you miss the warmth of her against your side almost immediately.

**…**

The drive back to your sister’s flat is silent, and you spend most of it with your head pressed against the cool glass of the window. You feel more attached to yourself than you did in the chaos of the club, though you can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. The headlights of the other cars are twinkling through the droplets of rain dancing across the windscreen, and the play of light and colours is distracting you from dwelling on your desire to reach over and touch her. Your mind is still fogged with alcohol, making judging the passage of time impossible, but eventually she’s slowing the car and pulling over in front of your sister’s flat. She parks the car and kills the engine, but makes no move to get out. The silence is drilling into your skull, and eventually you say something just to break it.

“How did you find me?” You ask, without looking at her.

She silent for a moment and you can feel her eyes on you, but eventually she answers. “Called the station, got them to track your phone.”

You feel the darkness in your chest hiss at that, and your anger rises to the surface. “Great. So I can’t go anywhere by myself without everyone worrying now?” you snap, lifting your head off the window and glaring across at her.

She returns your look with equal fire, but you can tell she’s trying to control her voice. “You were gone for hours. You weren’t answering your phone. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning, Millie!”

“I’m fine!” you grind out between clenched teeth, hating that phrase more and more every time you’re forced to say it.

“You’re not fine,” she snaps, undoing her seatbelt and twisting in her seat to face you. “You were alone and drunk in the same club you were attacked in a week ago. Your sister said you’re not eating and you won’t talk to her. You—”

“Oh, so you’re checking up on me behind my back now?” you interrupt her, copying her action and snapping your seatbelt off.

“You’re avoiding me!” she replies, her tone a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “You won’t talk to me or Katie and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine—” you begin, but she cuts you off.

“You’re. Not. Fine. Stop saying you’re—”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

“Fine, then you tell me. Stop pretending you’re fine and tell me,” she demands, her eyes flashing with a combination of anger, frustration and concern, and something somewhere inside you snaps.

You feel more than hear her gasp as you reach up and grab the lapel of her jacket, tugging her towards you. You hesitate for a split second before you close the remaining inches between you, and press your lips against hers, hard. You feel her stiffen in surprise at first, but after that brief hesitation, she responds. She slides her hand – which had gone to your headrest for support when you pulled her towards you – into your hair, and in that moment, everything that’s happened just melts away.

Time stops, everything stops, and you’re unaware of anything but her. The taste of her is on your tongue, and your skin is burning with her touch. You free one of your hands from her jacket and bring it up to cup her cheek as the kiss deepens, and you feel a low moan tear out of her throat. That guttural sound sends a fire searing through your veins, and you’re dimly aware of the half-healed cuts on your stomach twinging and something digging into your hip as you shift towards her, trying to get as close as physically possible as her other hand slides up your arm to caress your face.

You have no idea how long you stay like that, lost in the taste of her, but eventually the shrill trilling of her phone breaks you apart. You keep your foreheads pressed together, unwilling to lose the feeling that’s singing through you as she fumbles through her pockets with a trembling hand. You’re both breathing raggedly, and her eyes are dark with desire, matching the heat that’s burning through you and settling low in your stomach.

“Hello?” Her voice is rough as she answers, but she tilts the mouthpiece away as you tease another kiss from her lips before she pulls away from you to talk again. “I found her, Katie, it’s okay. We’re outside.”

The door to Katie’s flat is flung open, and she rushes out towards the car. You untangle the hand that’s still fisted in Rachel’s jacket and open the door, stumbling out of the car in time to catch your sister as she flings herself at you in a tearful hug.

She’s speaking through her tears, spouting a mixture of anger and relief at you, and though her words are mostly unintelligible, you get the gist and mumble apologies into her hair. You hear Rachel get out of the car as Katie draws away but doesn’t release you. She’s still babbling, mostly admonishment now, but most of your attention is diverted by your growing realisation of what had just happened. You had kissed Rachel, and she had kissed you back.

“God, Millie, anything could have happened!” Katie’s saying, but you just blink at her because Rachel is moving behind her, putting a hand on her back to get her attention.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Your sergeant suggests. You’re staring at her, trying to marshal your thoughts through your drunken haze and swirling emotion and she catches your eye. “Inside,” she says again, and your sister apparently agrees because she begins to tug you towards the door, steadying you when you stumble. You’re acutely aware that Rachel is somewhere behind you, and while she doesn’t speak again, you can feel her eyes on your back as she follows you into the house.

**…**

Katie helps you as far as the living room before releasing you. You stumble slightly as she turns on you, and catch yourself on the back of the sofa before you fall. Your phone is digging into your hip, so you extract it from your pocket and glance at the screen as Katie begins speaking. _17 missed calls, 15 new messages._

“Millie, do you have any idea what time it is? Where were you? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Where did you go?”

“I didn’t… I can’t…” You’re struggling to focus on her rapid-fire questions, partly because of the haze of alcohol blanketing your mind, and partly because Rachel is standing behind her, looking at you with an expression that’s vacillating between concern, surprise and desire. 

“And you’re drunk! What were you thinking, Millie? You could’ve been hurt!” Katie continues, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed. Both women are looking at you with vastly different expressions, and you find that between that and your own roiling emotions, you just want to find a quiet corner and pass out.

You mumble something about bed and turn, dropping your phone on the sofa as you pass and stumbling towards the guest room. Behind you, you hear both your sister and your sergeant start to follow you, and then the beginnings of a quiet argument. Your brain is too foggy to decipher the details, and once you reach your room you shut the door behind you, cutting off the voices.

You lean against the door briefly and close your eyes, trying to marshal your hopelessly tangled thoughts into some kind of order, but without sight, you lose your sense of balance and stumble sideways. You stagger towards the pull-out sofa that passes for a bed and sit heavily on the edge, kicking off your shoes after a few tries before falling backwards to sprawl on your back. You didn’t bother turning the light on when you came in, and the pale gleam from the street lamp outside is casting a half-light through the cracks in the curtains, painting strange patterns of shadow across the ceiling and leaving the room illuminated by a dim glow. You watch the patterns swim weirdly above you for a moment, entranced by their dream-like quality, before you’re distracted by a soft knock on the door.

“Go away,” you grumble, but the door opens anyway.

It’s Rachel. You know that without looking. She hovers uncertainly near the door, and after a steadying breath, you sit up to face her. You stare at her silently for a moment, trying to decipher the emotions flashing through her eyes as she fidgets with the door handle. Her hand flicks briefly towards the light switch, but she seems to change her mind and lets it drop to her side, leaving the room bathed in that ethereal glow.

“Katie’s gone to bed,” she eventually murmurs, shifting further into the room and letting the door drift shut behind her. You nod without speaking, and she shifts uncomfortably. “Are you okay?’ You nod again, and this time she mirrors your action. “Good. Good.” She glances around the room, and her eyes land on the jacket lying on the end of the bed. She moves closer to it and runs a hand over it, turning it so the light glints off the silver on the epaulette. “This is…”

It was her jacket, the one she’d wrapped around you in the alley. It had been the first thing you’d grabbed to bring to Katie’s; the thought of trying to sleep without it somewhere nearby almost scared you. The only night you’d been able to achieve that was the night you’d cried yourself to sleep on her shoulder.

She’s looking at you now, one hand still wrapped in her jacket and a question unspoken in her eyes. You look down, almost embarrassed to answer.

“It helps,” you say finally. “It…You help.”

“I see,” she murmurs, letting it fall back onto the bed and slipping her hands into her pockets. “I should go.”

“Wait, Rachel—” you begin as she turns, but she interrupts you.

“It’s late, Millie. You need to sleep. I’ll see you at work.”

She starts to open the door, and the darkness in you snarls. You’re tired of ignoring this, tired of the confusion and longing. The thing in your chest needles you into action, helped by the alcohol that’s still making you brave. You push yourself off the bed and cross the room quickly, reaching a hand over her shoulder to rest against the door, keeping it closed. She stiffens, but doesn’t look at you.

“Millie…” she begins, but you cut her off.

“I kissed you,” you hiss, and she lets her head fall forward against the door. “I kissed you and you didn’t stop me.”

“I know,” she mumbles into the wood.

“I _kissed_ you, and—”

“I know,” she repeats, louder, and lifts her head to look at you. “Millie, I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologise for it. You didn’t stop me. I kissed you, but you kissed me.”

“Millie, I…”

“What would’ve happened in the kitchen?” you ask, and confusion flashes across her face.

“I…”

“That morning, in your kitchen. If Stone hadn’t shown up. What would’ve happened?” you clarify, and comprehension dawns in her eyes.

She doesn’t respond, and after a long moment, you find you can’t look at her. You push off the door start to turn away, but you hear her move and suddenly her hand catches yours. You stop, but you still can’t look at her until her other hand goes to your cheek and lifts your head. You barely have time to register the expression on her face before she closes the distance between you. The kiss is tentative, almost hesitant, the complete opposite of the one in the car, and your eyes slide shut as you melt into it. Your arms slide around her waist as her hand moves from your wrist to rest on your hip, and you feel your body shiver as she slips it under your shirt and scratches her nails lightly across your skin. You stay like that, touching, tasting, exploring until your need for air breaks you apart, though you don’t move away from each other.

“I should go,” she whispers as her breathing evens out, though she stays where she is, with her mouth inches from yours.

“Don’t,” you murmur, sliding your hand down to entwine with hers. “Stay. Please.”

“I shouldn’t…”

“But you want to?”

“…Yes.”

“Then stay,” you whisper, kissing her again and gently tugging her back towards the bed. Your alcohol buzz is wearing off, and as the weariness snakes through you, you realise that the only thing you want in the world at that moment is to fall asleep with her next to you.

You can feel her resolve wavering, and when you move your hands to her shoulders to slip her jacket off, she gives in, letting the garment fall to the floor before wrapping her arms around you again. You break the embrace when the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you fall, pulling her down with you. You steal one last, lingering kiss before wriggling under the covers with her, manoeuvring until she settles behind you and you’re wrapped in her arms. With her breath ghosting over your skin and her heartbeat a comforting rhythm on your back, you drift off to sleep, feeling warm, safe, and truly content for the first time in days.


	16. Chapter 16

Rachel woke slowly, and at first, she couldn’t remember where she was. The first impression to filter into her awareness was that she was content, more so than she’d been for a while. That feeling was interrupted by a flash of confusion as her body reported the warmth of another person pressed against her, then overtaken by a growing sense of dismay as the events of the previous night came back to her. Opening her eyes, the sergeant blinked at the bright sunlight streaming in through the curtains before her eyes adjusted and the room swam into focus. A slight movement beside her drew her gaze, and Rachel felt her heart still for a moment when her eyes landed on Millie, curled up against her side and looking more relaxed in slumber than the sergeant had ever seen her. She was beautiful, and Rachel’s sleep-laden brain was transfixed by the play of light across her skin and through her hair. The sergeant’s hand was halfway towards the strands that had strayed across the other woman’s face before she realised what she was doing and pulled it back, running it instead over her eyes as she took refuge in the darkness behind her eyelids and tried to sort through her conflicting emotions.

She had been scared – genuinely afraid – for the forty-five minutes it had taken her to find the constable. When Stone had called her back with the location of Millie’s phone, she’d felt physically sick as scenario after scenario ran through her head and the dread coiled in her stomach. Then she’d found her at the bar, drunk but otherwise unhurt, and the sergeant had almost collapsed from sheer relief. Her first, instinctive reaction had been to embrace the constable, but that feeling had quickly been swamped by fear-turned-anger. Anger that the fear had been entirely justified. Anger at the fact they hadn’t caught him yet. Anger at the stupid, self-destructive urge that had led Millie back to the club. And the anger had been a good thing, for a while. It had allowed Rachel to force the conversation – the argument – that Millie needed to have. Up until the kiss.

She didn’t remember what she’d said to trigger it. The argument had melded together into flashes of incoherent yelling, but Rachel did remember the look in Millie’s eye in the exact moment that she’d reached across the car. That pure, molten desire – combined with surprise and the feeling of Millie’s lips on hers – had shattered Rachel’s already-tenuous grip on her self-control. The sergeant had lost herself totally in the moment, and there was a part of her that was convinced that, had Katie not interrupted, she would have stayed like that for the rest of the night, adrift in the sensation of Millie’s tongue tracing a pattern across her lips.

Then, later, with the constable gazing at her with eyes that were almost black in the ruddy twilight of the guest room, Rachel had realised that she couldn’t remember why she was fighting it. Her reasons were being rapidly eroded by the heat of Millie body pressed up against her back, and the voice that was reminding her that it was a bad idea was getting softer and softer, drowned out by the desire and longing and the whispered words _‘I kissed you’_. What happened after that felt inevitable. When Millie had pushed away from her, leaving the cold tingling over her spine and fracturing what was left of her resistance, Rachel had given in and caught her arm. When the constable had begged her to stay with those three whispered words, doing anything else had seemed far too hard. Even now, in the cold, sober light of morning, Rachel couldn’t fully bring herself to regret it because there was something that felt so very right about waking up with Millie’s arm curved over her stomach, something incredibly comforting about the constable’s heartbeat pulsing a rhythm against her side.

There were doubts that lingered, though. The reasons that this – whatever it was – was a bad idea were still valid, and that little voice that had fallen silent last night under the dark heat of Millie’s gaze was slowly getting louder again. She was still Millie’s sergeant. It was still just over a week since she’d been attacked. The things Millie had admitted in the club. Even thought it had been Millie who initiated it, it was always possible that the constable would feel differently when she woke, without the haze of alcohol to blur her mind. It was that possibility that led Rachel to extricate herself gently from the other woman’s embrace, trying to ease away without disturbing her. She got as far as shifting herself into a sitting position before Millie stirred and rolled onto her back.

The constable winced and groaned as the light streaming in through the curtains hit her face, and she rolled back onto her side. Her eyes fluttered slowly open, but when she saw Rachel, she smiled beatifically and Rachel felt her heart stutter. The smile was quickly replaced by a bleary, confused expression, but that first, unguarded look had cut through Rachel’s confused welter of emotions, searing into her tired mind and briefly stealing her breath away.

“Rachel?” the constable rasped, rubbing her head and jolting the sergeant out of her thrall. “What happened?”

“How much do you remember?” Rachel asked, evading the question. The possibility of Millie not remembering the events of the previous night hadn’t occurred to her, and the sergeant wasn’t sure how she’d handle it if that were the case.

Millie frowned as she sorted through the mess of last night in her head, her eyes unfocused and flicking as if she was watching it replay in front of her. “I had a fight with Katie… I was in a club…”

“I found you in the Andromeda Bar,” Rachel told her quietly, watching Millie’s face, but it took a few seconds for the constable to react.

“Oh god,” the constable croaked, sitting up quickly with a stunned expression.

“It’s okay, nothing happened,” Rachel murmured, reaching toward the other woman. “He wasn’t there, he—”

But Millie shook her head before looking at her with wide eyes. “Did I kiss you?”

The sergeant’s hand froze halfway to its destination. Caught off-guard by the question and still distracted by the memory of that smile, Rachel didn’t have time to mask her reaction before it gave Millie her answer.

“Oh god, Rachel, S-sarge, I’m sorry, I’m…god…” Millie began, looking anguished. Her hands were twitching against her chest, as if she wanted to reach towards Rachel but was stopping herself. Her eyes had resumed flickering around the room, searching last night for some memory that would make it better.

It was one last opportunity for Rachel to deny everything, to push all responsibility onto the constable and close the can of worms. Professionally, that would’ve been the best course of action, to stop whatever this was before it went any further.  It’s what Sergeant Weston should’ve done. But in the face of Millie’s obvious distress and with the memory of her lips pressed against hers, Rachel found that –  for the first time in a long time – she didn’t much care what Sergeant Weston should do. That, with the fading heat of the constable against her body and image of _that smile_ still in her head, it wasn’t even a choice. While she was still conflicted about furthering this thing between them, she couldn’t let Millie think that it had only been one sided. Her hand continued moving towards Millie’s shoulder before she’d considered it, her mouth forming words before she realised she was saying anything.

“No, I’m sorry. You were drunk, you were…it wasn’t just…I should’ve stopped you…” Rachel trailed off, trying to interpret the new expression on Millie’s face. Her eyes had stopped flicking around the room again, instead meeting Rachel’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down the sergeant’s spine.

“You didn’t.”

“No.” The look in Millie’s eye was very distracting, cracking Rachel’s half-formed resolve and diminishing the objections that had seemed so important a moment ago.

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“…I don’t know.”

Rachel hadn’t noticed them shifting closer, but she was acutely aware of their proximity now. The hand that had been on Millie’s shoulder had crept up to cup her neck, and she was close enough to take in every detail of Millie’s face, every emotion flickering through her eyes. “I…” she breathed again, but neither of them were listening to the words any more.

She wasn’t sure which of them leaned in to close the last inches between them, but the next thing the sergeant was aware of was their lips brushing lightly together. The kiss was soft, hesitant, but didn’t stay that way for long as Rachel felt her self-control slipping. Her hand slid higher to tangle in Millie’s hair, and she could feel the constable’s hand hot on her skin near her waist where her shirt had ridden up. Rachel sank back onto the pillows behind her as Millie shifted towards her, and the hand that wasn’t twined in the constable’s hair found purchase in her shirt, using it to pull their bodies closer together.

They were both so caught up in each other that neither heard the door opening.

“Millie, your—oh shit, sorry.” The women quickly broke apart, but Katie, standing by the door with Millie’s mobile pressed to her shoulder, had seen enough. “Um, your mobile was ringing and it said work so I answered it. It’s your inspector,” she continued rapidly, deliberately not looking at the bed or its occupants. She inched closer and held the phone out, and Millie reached over Rachel to retrieve it.

“Katie…” Millie began, but Katie made a quick exit, still refusing to make eye contact with either of them. The constable sighed and rolled back to her side of the bed, bringing the phone to her ear. “Ma’am?”

The house was quiet enough for Rachel to hear both sides of the conversation. _“Millie, has the doctor cleared you for full duties yet?”_

Rachel could hear enough of Gina’s tone to tell the call wasn’t about anything good; the inspector sounded stressed, and the sergeant knew she wouldn’t be thinking about returning Millie to full duties early without a good reason.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Millie answered, but Rachel was distracted from Gina’s reply by the trilling of her own mobile from where it was tucked in her jacket on the floor. She crawled over to the edge of the bed and retrieved the garment, rummaging through the pockets briefly before extracting her phone and answering it quietly.

“Weston.”

“ _Rachel, hi.”_ It was Smithy. _“Listen, I know it’s your day off, but there’s been an incident and we need everyone.”_

Rachel grimaced. If they were calling in all available bodies, it must be serious. “What happened?” she asked, keeping her voice low. She didn’t want her already-too-perceptive inspector to hear her in the background of Millie’s call.

 _“A little—why are we whispering?”_ he interrupted himself, and Rachel mentally cursed the fact she worked with people trained to notice things.

“You woke me up,” Rachel lied. “What happened?”

 _“Sorry. A little girl’s gone missing.”_ The sound of another phone ringing echoed down the line, followed by a frustrated sigh. _“I have to get that. Can you…?”_

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 _“Thanks,”_ he murmured, and hung up. Rachel dropped the phone back onto her jacket and wriggled back to her previous position beside Millie as the constable ended her own call from the inspector. They both lay there for a moment before Millie broke the silence.

“It sounds bad,” she murmured.

“Yeah….Millie, I…” Rachel began, hesitatingly. The veil that had surrounded the room, the haze that made consequences seem irrelevant, had lifted. The call from work and Katie catching them, the intrusion of the outside world into their little bubble, had brought the realities of the situation crashing back down. They served as a reminder that this… thing between her and Millie didn’t exist in a vacuum, that there could be repercussions should they take it further than it had already gone.

“It’s been a while since my sister caught me with someone,” Millie murmured, breaking the silence.

Rachel took the opening. “Will she… How bad is it?”

Millie’s shoulder brushed hers as she shrugged. “If it’s anything like last time, she’ll threaten to tell mum for a while then get bored with it. Mind you, last time I was sixteen and she caught me with a boy.”

Rachel wasn’t sure what to say to that. Being involved with one of her male constables would’ve been complicated enough. That they were both women added a level of scandalous complexity that Rachel wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with.

Millie’s thoughts seemed to be running along similar lines. “You think this is a bad idea,” she said, still gazing up at the ceiling.

 _‘Yes’_ replied one part of Rachel, while another responded vehemently with _‘No!’_ and Rachel sighed. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Millie’s phone beeped from where it was resting on her stomach. The constable glanced at it and grimaced. “We have to go to work,” she muttered, still refusing to meet Rachel’s eye.

“Millie, look at me,” the sergeant demanded softly. The constable did so, and Rachel felt the now-familiar rush down her spine as their eyes met. “It’ll be okay.” Rachel’s phone chimed from the floor and she frowned at it. “Look, we really have to go, but we’ll talk about it after shift, okay? I promise.”

The constable nodded, and Rachel reached out a hand to brush the hair from her face before standing, retrieving her jacket from the floor, and leaving the room.

**…**

After ducking home to shower and change, Rachel headed to the station. The locker room was unusually quiet when Rachel arrived, and the sergeant was secretly gratified to see that a fair portion of her colleagues looked as tired as she felt. Gina and Smithy had obviously woken a number of them up far earlier than they’d planned, and it made her feel slightly better to know that she would not be the only one craving coffee all day.

After she’d changed into her uniform, Rachel went in search of Smithy, and found him in their office. He was on the phone, and the blonde sergeant took advantage of his inattention to steal a slice of toast from the small stack on his desk. He shot her a look, but let it pass.

“Okay. Thank you,” he said, before hanging up and letting his head drop into his hands with a sigh.

“What happened?” Rachel asked around the toast between her teeth as she fixed her tie.

“An eight-year-old girl was taken from her home sometime early this morning,” he answered from between his fingers. He rubbed his eye with a weary gesture before looking up at her. “We don’t know why. Eddie’s working on how.”

“Have we got anything to go on yet?”

Smithy shook his head lightly. “Parents have no ideas, but they’re hysterical at the moment. Tony’s with them; if they think of anything, he’ll call. There’re about fifteen uniforms doing house-to-house, and we’re going through CCTV, but the area is mostly residential, so a lot of the streets aren’t covered. Barton Street are sending some of their lot to help with the search, and Spicer Street are covering as many of our other calls as they can, but… It’s gonna be a long one.”

Rachel nodded as between them, the phone on Smithy’s desk started ringing again. Smithy glared at it for a moment.

“There’s a briefing in the incident room in ten,” he told her before picking up the offending device. “Sergeant Smith.”

The blonde sergeant patted her colleague on the shoulder before leaving the office, adjusting her equipment belt as she went and heading the direction of the incident room.


	17. Chapter 17

Even if she hadn’t spoken to Smithy, Rachel would have realised they were in for a bad shift as soon as she walked into the incident room to find Gina hovering near the open window with a lit cigarette between her fingers. That in itself was not unusual; the inspector was infamous for her disregard of smoking regulations. The thing that made the sergeant nervous was the fact that Heaton was in the room, surveying a map, and while he was radiating disapproval, he’d obviously not told her to put it out.

“Sir, Ma’am,” Rachel greeted them, weaving between the desks to stand beside the superintendent.

“Sergeant Weston,” Heaton nodded in greeting, while Gina smiled at her from behind a cloud of exhaled smoke.

“Morning, Rachel. Sorry to call you in on your day off,” the inspector murmured, clearing the air with a wave of her hand. “Are you up to speed?”

“Yes Ma’am, Smithy filled me in.”

“Good. He’ll be liaising with the TSG; I want you coordinating the search with the Barton Street officers.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Rachel murmured, leaning over to study the map as behind her, the steady trickle of officers slowly filled the room. The search areas were fanned out around the Anderson’s home fairly non-specifically, but with so little information to go on, that was hardly surprising. They would get more focused as they uncovered leads, but for the time being, they just had to hope they’d get lucky.

“Right, everybody settle down, please,” DI Nixon called a few minutes later, striding into the room with Smithy close behind her as Gina hastily stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it out into the yard. Rachel moved to stand beside Smithy where he’d taken up position off to the side as the noise in the room died down. “Okay, as some of you know, at three o’clock this morning, Chloe Anderson’s stepfather went to check on her and found her missing from her bed. We’re operating under the assumption that this is an abduction. At this stage we have no motive…”

As Sam continued, Rachel felt her concentration slide. She’d already heard most of this information from Smithy, and was instead distracted by the memory of what else had happened that night. Casting a glance around the room, the sergeant easily found the source of her inattention. The constable was sitting between Beth and Rodger, looking tired but alert and oblivious to Rachel’s scrutiny. The sergeant hadn’t noticed when Millie entered the room, but she was acutely aware of her presence now, and she could feel the beginnings of a blush creeping up her cheeks when her mind wandered back to the feeling of Millie’s lips on her own.

Rachel was snapped out of her contemplation by a gentle nudge on her shoulder. She looked questioningly at Smithy, who’d inched closer to her while she’d been lost in her thoughts.

“You okay?” he mouthed at her with a strange expression on his face, and Rachel nodded and did her best to smile before refocusing on Nixon.

“Now, the press are gonna be all over this. You all know the drill. ‘No comment’, and direct them to the press office. That’s all from me. Gina?”

The inspector stepped forward. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you all how critical the first 24 hours are. Talk to everyone. Anything you find comes back here. The vans leave in five minutes. That’s it.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed them, and Rachel followed Smithy from the room, trying to shake her mind back onto the task at hand as they made their way to the yard.

**…**

The shift turned into a double shift, as Smithy had predicted it would, and it was very late by the time Gina released the disheartened relief. They’d found no sign of the little girl. Eddie had been able to determine how the abductor got into the house, but he’d left no identifying traces, and the CSE could offer little information beyond the fact that it looked like he had been after Chloe specifically. The parents were still clueless as to why the girl had been targeted, and the CCTV hadn’t given them anything.

Rachel was one of the last to head back to the station after the search had been called off for the night. She was bone-weary; the effort involved in co-ordinating the sheer number of officers and volunteers involved in the search would have been exhausting on a normal day, let alone doing it on very little sleep. It had required all of the sergeant’s concentration, and as a result, had kept her mind off her personal problems, so it wasn’t until she was half-way back to the station that she remembered her promise to Millie.

Upon returning to the station, Rachel had a quick look around, checking the canteen, writing rooms and locker room, but the constable was nowhere to be found. Deciding that she’d probably gone home already, Rachel gave up her search and headed back to the locker room, telling herself it was probably for the best. She was exhausted, and knew Millie would probably be feeling even worse, considering she’d been hung-over as well as sleep-deprived.

The locker room was empty, and the sergeant stripped out of her uniform mechanically, fumbling slightly with the clip on her belt. Closing her locker, Rachel sank down on the bench behind her and slumped forward, covering her face with her hands and rubbing her eyes. She sat there for a moment, trying to muster up the energy to get up, but instead found herself staring at the scuffed grey metal of her locker, her eyes sliding out of focus. A voice from somewhere beside her snapped her attention back to the room.

She blinked and turned her head to find Smithy standing in the doorway. He’d changed out of his uniform, and was looking at her with a concerned expression.

“What?” she asked, realising that she had no idea what he’d said.

“I said are you alright?” he repeated, shifting to lean on the doorframe.

Rachel blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

Smithy looked unconvinced, but didn’t push it. “Millie’s asleep on your desk,” he told her, crossing his arms. “She looks terrible.”

Rachel mentally kicked herself. She hadn’t even thought to check the sergeants’ office, and she felt a stab of guilt that Millie had obviously been waiting for her.

“I promised her a ride home,” Rachel explained, realising that Smithy was still watching her. She was about to stand, but Smithy pushed off the doorframe and stepped further into the room, nudging the door shut with his foot as he went.

“So what’s going on with you two?” he asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice.

That woke her up somewhat. “What?”

“You and Millie. There’s something going on,” he said, leaning against the lockers and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Why…What?” she repeated, fatigue and surprise making her inarticulate.

He extracted one hand from his pocket to count off his points. “You spent over twelve hours at the hospital with her. You let her stay at your place that night her flat was broken into. That thing with Cassidy. I was watching you in the briefing this morning; you couldn’t keep your eyes off her,” he finished, slipping the hand back into his pocket and shifting uncomfortably again.

“Smithy, I….” Rachel started, feeling her face warm and trying to muster up the effort to lie.

“I heard her, this morning,” he said quietly, not meeting her eye. “When I called you. I could her hear her talking in the background.”

Rachel buried her head in her hands. She was too tired for this conversation.

“Rachel, look….I’m not judging you, I swear,” Smithy continued, moving to sit next to her on the bench. “But…are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

That startled a slightly hysterical laugh out of her. “No. No, not really.”

That mad desire to tell someone was growing again, but unlike last time with Gina, Rachel’s mouth started talking before her tired brain caught up, and the sergeant found herself telling Smithy everything. Her inability to leave Millie at the hospital, the argument with Max, the kitchen, the office, the club, the car. The night before, and the morning that followed. Once she started, Rachel couldn’t stop, but Smithy, to his credit, didn’t interrupt. He just sat beside her and let her talk herself out, releasing tension within her Rachel hadn’t realised was there.

When she was done, Smithy exhaled heavily. “Well…” he started, after a long pause. “I never picked that you like women. Some copper I am.”

Rachel let out a choked laugh, then shook her head. “I’ve never…It’s not women. Just her, I think.” She hadn’t looked at him since she started talking, but she could feel his eyes on her. She dropped her head into her hands again, and was surprised to feel dampness around her eyes. “God, what am I doing, Smithy? I’m her sergeant, she’s traumatised, I shouldn’t be taking advantage…”

“I’m guessing if it were that simple, you wouldn’t be hiding in the locker room,” Smithy said, nudging her shoulder with his.

“I tell myself all those things,” Rachel began, speaking through her fingers. “All the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this, but then when I’m with her…All of that seems, I don’t know, smaller. Irrelevant.”

Smithy sighed. “I know what you mean,” he murmured wistfully, and when Rachel finally looked at him, she found no reproval in his expression, just a kind of pained understanding that spoke of hurts long buried.

“I shouldn’t have given in,” Rachel murmured, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “She was drunk. She was attacked a week ago, and she’s not okay. God, she’s the poster child for ‘not okay’. What if she doesn’t really want this? What if it’s just her way of not coping with what happened?”

“It might be more her than you think,” Smithy told her, smiling wryly at Rachel’s questioning expression. “That girl’s had a thing for you since you got here.”

The blonde sergeant blinked at him a few times, surprised, before she managed to speak. “What? No she hasn’t.”

“It didn’t click until now, but looking back…” Smithy shrugged. “You don’t see how she looks at you when she thinks nobody’s watching.” Rachel blinked again, trying to parse this new information as he continued. “My guess is being drunk made her brave enough to act on what she was already feeling.”

Rachel shook her head, pushing his revelation to the back of her mind. “Even if that’s true, there’s so many reasons it’s a terrible idea…”

“What if there wasn’t?” Smithy asked. “Pretend you’re just two people who met in a bar or something. Would you still want it?”

Rachel hesitated. If all the issues suddenly became non-issues, would she still feel the same? She might never have acknowledged it without this insane set of circumstances, but now she was aware of it…“Yes,” she finally whispered, eyes focused on her hands again.

“Then don’t let the problems get in the way. If this is something that you and she both want, I think you should give it a go.”

“But—” Rachel began, but Smithy cut her off.

“Life’s too short, Rachel, especially in this job,” he said, his eyes full of old pain, and something stirred in Rachel’s memory. A story about Sun Hill she’d heard when she’d been a PC, about a sniper and a constable that had died in her sergeant’s arms, and she realised that Smithy might have more insight into what she was feeling that she thought. “The last thing you want is to wake up one morning and realise you’ve missed your chance at something amazing.”

The blonde sergeant heard the _‘trust me’_ unspoken at the end of that sentence and reached over to squeeze her counterpart’s hand. He smiled sadly at her for a moment before his expression cleared.

“Look, you don’t have to make any decisions right now. It’s late, and you look exhausted,” he told her, standing and offering her a hand. “Do you want me to take Millie home?”

She took the offered hand and let him pull her to her feet. “No, I said I would.” Impulsively, she pulled the other sergeant into a hug. “Thanks, Smithy. Listen, could you…”

“I’ll not tell a soul,” he assured her. “But I am here if you need to talk.”

She smiled at him as they left the locker room. “Thanks, Smithy.” He squeezed her shoulder before disappearing towards the front office.

Rachel opened the door to the sergeants’ office quietly. Someone – she suspected Smithy – had closed the blinds to keep anyone from looking into the room where Millie was indeed asleep, hunched over Rachel’s desk with her head pillowed on her arms. Even as exhausted as she looked, she was beautiful, and Rachel realised – with the echo of Smithy’s words in her head – that were they just two random people, she could easily see herself falling for this woman.

She crouched down beside her constable and put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. “Millie? Wake up, sweetheart.”

Millie stirred and lifted her head. “Rachel?” She blinked sleepily as she sat up. “Have you been crying?”

“No, ‘course not. I’m just tired,” the sergeant lied. “You ready to go?”

The constable nodded and they both stood, Millie pausing to stretch after being hunched over the desk for so long.

“Is it okay….Can we stop at my flat first?” she asked as they headed for the front office. “I need some more clothes and stuff.”

“Of course.” Rachel agreed.

**…**

The drive to Millie’s flat was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Rachel was still mulling over what Smithy had said, and Millie looked like she was too tired to be thinking of anything but her bed.

As they climbed the stairs of Millie’s building, Rachel was reminded uncomfortably of the last time she’d been here, the dread and panic she’d felt rushing up these stair, fearing what she’d find. Millie seemed to be having similar flashbacks, because as their hands swung close together, Millie slipped her fingers between Rachel’s and kept them there as they approached the door, only releasing her hand when she had to rummage for her keys.

They’d taken the crime scene tape down, but there were still smudges of fingerprint powder around the doorframe, and Millie eyes lingered on them as she unlocked the door. She paused briefly with her hand on the handle, and Rachel bit back the urge to ask her if she was okay. The constable glanced quickly over her shoulder, as if to reassure herself that Rachel was still with her, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

Eddie’s team had cleaned up. There was no trace of the rose petals, no ominous flower resting on the end table. The only indication that someone else had been there were the occasional streaks of fingerprint powder on some of the surfaces, and an empty evidence bag that had been left on the coffee table.

“I’ll just be a sec,” Millie murmured as she disappeared towards her room. Rachel briefly considered following her, but decided against it, instead taking a moment to examine the pictures clustered around the living room. Some were obviously Millie’s flatmate’s, but most were Millie’s. Rachel found herself in a couple of them, one of them a group shot from a couple of months ago that she vaguely remembered Sally taking when the relief had been out celebrating one of the larger drug busts they’d made that year. They were both laughing, Rachel with a hand resting on Millie’s back as the constable reached over her to shove a grinning Ben playfully for something he’d said. While the memory of that night made her smile, Rachel felt her face warm as Smithy’s _‘that girl’s had a thing for you since you got here’_ echoed through her head, and looking at that picture, remembering how an almost-drunk Millie had pressed against her, Rachel was beginning to wonder if he’d been closer to the mark than she’d thought.

Shaking her head and pushing that train of thought aside, the sergeant moved on to the next picture, featuring a much younger Millie with Katie and a man who had Millie’s smile.

“My dad,” Millie said from behind her, making the sergeant jump. Rachel hadn’t heard her approach. “Sorry,” the constable apologised, moving to stand next to her and smiling sadly at the photo. “He died not long after mum took that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Millie shook her head. “It was years ago.” She pointed to another photo, this one of someone who looked like an older, darker-haired version of Millie. “That’s my mum. She remarried and moved to Brighton after dad died.”

“Have you spoken to her recently?”

Millie dropped her gaze. “Katie told her I was in hospital so she called me. I told her I got hurt at work.”

“Millie…” Rachel started reproachfully, but the constable interrupted her.

“It’d only upset her if I told her what was going on,” Millie insisted, but Rachel guessed there was more to it than that.

“She’d be one more person asking you if you were okay,” she murmured, remembering Millie’s increasingly frustrated assertions of _‘I’m Fine’_. The constable glanced at her, startled, and Rachel took the opening. “Millie, what you said in the club….”

“I was drunk!”

“You said you wanted him to come back,” Rachel reminded her softly, watching her face.

The constable shifted her weight and wouldn’t meet Rachel’s eye. “I didn’t mean it. It’s not…”

“Is that why you were in that club last night? You were looking for him?” the sergeant asked carefully, watching her constable’s reaction.

Millie’s head shot up. “No! I just…ended up there. I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you sure?” Rachel pressed, and anger flashed into Millie’s eyes.

“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped, but Rachel continued.

“Because if you need to talk to someone, if you’re not coping, I need to know. As your sergeant, if not as—” Rachel cut herself off. She hadn’t meant to bring up the changing nature of their relationship, but the slim hope that Millie hadn’t caught the slip faded when the constable’s expression shifted.

“’If not as’ what?” she demanded, and Rachel hesitated. She could hardly avoid the question when she was pressing Millie to open up to her.

“Someone who cares. A great deal,” the sergeant admitted quietly, and the anger in Millie’s eyes vanished, replaced by something Rachel recognised from that morning, when she’d woken up beside her.

The constable shifted slightly towards her, but before she could say anything, there was a loud knock at the door. Rachel frowned as a sense of foreboding washed through her.

“Did you tell anyone you were coming here?” she asked her constable. Millie shook her head, her eyes wide and fearful.

Rachel moved cautiously towards the door as another, quieter knock echoed through the flat. She checked the peephole, but couldn’t see anyone on the other side. After sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure Millie was still a safe distance away, Rachel took a deep breath and yanked open the door, blinking in surprise at who she found.

“Are you Millie?” sobbed the little girl, and with another jolt of surprise, Rachel recognised her as Chloe Anderson, the missing girl they’d been searching for all day. “He said I had to give this to Millie.”

She held out her hand, and Rachel felt the blood drain from her face as she realised what the girl was holding: a hauntingly familiar embossed card. Gingerly, the sergeant reached down and took the card, holding it along the edges, mindful of a smear of red along one corner. It was the same as the others, but before she could read what was written on it, she heard the front door of the building crash open and Rachel realised that the first, booming knock on the door could not have been made by the terrified eight-year-old.

“Stay here,” she said, talking to Millie as much as the girl, and ran towards the stairs, jumping down them three at a time and rushing towards the front door. Rachel made it outside just in time to see a dark sedan pull out from the curb and screech off down the street, disappearing around the corner before she could glimpse either the driver or the registration. Cursing in frustration, the sergeant realised she was still holding the card, and turned it over to read the writing. Unlike the others, which had been scribed in an ornate font, this message was hastily scrawled in thick black pen, and as she read it, Rachel felt a knot of dread form in her stomach.

**_I won’t lose you_ ** _._


	18. Chapter 18

By the time your limbs have unfrozen, Rachel has bolted out the door, leaving you alone with a terrified eight-year-old and the horrible, overwhelming fear that she’s not coming back. You’d glimpsed the card she’d taken off Chloe and your brain had connected dots that didn’t make sense yet, but led to one conclusion. _He_ was here, and Rachel had just gone after him, alone and unarmed. A sob down by your hip reminds you that you’re not alone, and you attempt to fight through the haze of fear to comfort the girl clinging to your leg. You do your best to calm her, crouching and gathering her into your arms, but given that you can feel your hands trembling on her back, you’re not sure how reassuring you’re being. But you keep doing it anyway, keeping one eye on the door and feeling sick at the dread roiling in your stomach.

Last night had made several things inescapably clear to you, the main one being that you needed Rachel in a way that you can’t really articulate. Even beyond the fact that you’re hopelessly infatuated with her, she’s been amazing this last week, supportive and comforting, and you’re sure that without her, you’d still be curled in a ball somewhere. The thought of her chasing the violent madman, unarmed and without backup, is slicing fear into your heart and sending sickening dread clawing up your throat.

Your fears are proven groundless, though, when Rachel reappears in the doorway, slightly out of breath and looking frustrated. She has her phone pressed to her ear and is still holding the card in the other, and you don’t realise you’ve crossed the room until you’re standing in front of her, propelled by a need to reassure yourself that she’s unharmed. She’s speaking to Stone by the sounds of it, but you ignore the conversation as you slide your arms around her and embrace her tightly. She stiffens slightly in surprise, her words faltering briefly, but she returns the hug as best she can with one arm as she finishes the call.

“Okay. I’ll call Gina; can you get onto the DI?” A pause, then, “Thanks, Callum.” She hangs up, then hugs you properly as you press your head into her shoulder. “Are you okay? Is Chloe?”

You nod, feeling a brief flash of relief that’s quickly squashed when that little voice reminds you that, while you do have Chloe back, that not even close to the end of it. If that card means what you’re sure it means, then the little girl being taken was related to what happened to you. She’d been taken because of one man’s obsession with you. Not to mention Rachel, unhesitatingly running after him, into danger, because of you. She’s still rubbing circle on you back and, with guilt bubbling in your gut, you lift your head slightly.

“Please don’t do that again,” you whisper against her neck, and she stiffens again and pulls away, trying to meet your eye.

“Millie—” she starts, but you cut her off, withdrawing from her arms and stepping back. Suddenly, even looking at her feels like something you don’t deserve.

“Go and call the inspector. Someone needs to tell Chloe’s parents,” you say instead, backing away and offering a hand to the little girl. You can feel her eyes on your back as you lead Chloe over to the sofa, but she doesn’t speak again, and you can’t look at her. Instead you just sit, letting Chloe crawl onto your lap, and wait, feeling completely powerless and hating it.

**…**

Your flat is full of coppers again, and there’s a vague idea floating around the back of your mind that says that should bother you. And maybe it would, were you not so tired, and scared, and relieved, and a dozen other emotions you’re too drained to poke at. Stone had arrived first, followed soon after by DI Nixon, Inspector Gold and Max and, with the exception of Stone, they all look like Rachel’s call had dragged them from bed. Sally and Nate are around somewhere, too, probably downstairs, waking your neighbours, but you’d stopped paying attention to the comings and goings. What little focus you’d been able to maintain had been – and remains – on the girl curled in your lap.

You can feel your colleagues watching you. They’re trying to pretend they’re not, but their eyes prickle on the back of your neck. Max and the DI had asked you questions when they’d first arrived, but when your responses had only been one or two words and Chloe had refused to answer at all, they’d given up and moved their conversation away. The five officers are huddled together now, near the door but close enough that you could catch parts of the discussion, if you could concentrate over the pounding in your head and the guilt clawing at your throat. You don’t try, though. Your bones ache from fatigue, and all you can manage at that moment is running your fingers through Chloe’s hair and murmuring comforting sounds when she stirs. The girl had silently cried herself to sleep on your lap, and while your legs are slowly losing feeling from the weight and the cuts on your stomach are aching from the pressure, you don’t have it in you to move her. So instead you just sit, going numb from the outside in, tracing random patterns on the little girl’s back and staring at the blank TV screen, lost in the swirl of despair that’s growing in your chest.

He must have been following you, to know that you’d be at your flat. Had Rachel not been with you…He’s already proven he can overpower you, and you know in your heart that you’re not going to feel safe again until they catch him. But what if they don’t? Would you spent the rest of your life constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for him to reappear? Normally, you had the utmost faith in your CID colleagues, but the information you’d wheedled out of Jo about your case wasn’t encouraging. The only suspect they had was Cassidy, and you know that he didn’t do it. Their leads weren’t strong, and though the detective had tried to instil you with a sense of confidence when you’d spoken to her, you could tell even she was having doubts. You know she and Max won’t give up, that Rachel won’t give up, but the cloud of hopelessness growing in your chest is hissing that their next good lead will come when you let your guard down and he takes you. Or worse, when he goes after Katie, or Rachel, or someone else you care about. Taking Chloe has proven how far he’ll go, and there’s a sense of creeping inevitability growing in your heart that’s telling you that eventually, he’ll win.

Your attention is drawn out of out the spiral of depression when you hear your name.

“Well, I think it’d be a good idea for Millie to stay at a hotel for a few days,” Sam is saying, and you feel your body stiffen as something hot and defiant slithers through your stomach, railing against the growing void in your chest. “This man’s obviously willing to go to great lengths to get her attention, and that,” she points at the card Stone had slid into an evidence bag. “Is obviously cause for concern. It could be dangerous to leave her on her own.”

“I agree, Guv,” Max adds, and you finally look over at them.

“I don’t want to stay in a hotel,” you say, low but firm, wary of disturbing the girl in your arms. Though you’re mostly speaking to the detectives, you glance quickly at Rachel. She’s watching you with an unreadable expression, but doesn’t say anything. You’re relieved she doesn’t argue, because you’re fairly sure that if she did, you’d cave almost instantly.

Max, on the other hand, is a different story. “Millie, I really think it’d be better—” he begins, but you cut him off.

“I let him chase me away once,” you snap, tired and angry enough that you don’t mind admitting that in front people who aren’t Rachel. “I’m not letting him do it again.”

Chloe stirs slightly in your arms, and you glance down at her, glad for an excuse not to watch their reactions. You can feel their eyes on you again, and you’re sure Max is going to keep pushing, but whatever he’s about to say is halted by a knock at the door.

You feel yourself tense up and hate it. You’re not the only one, though; out of the corner of your eye, you see Rachel’s hand flick up to her hip to hover over the space where her asp would usually be. She drops it quickly as Sam moves towards the door, but knowing that you’re not the only one on edge helps.

It’s Tony at the door, and with him are Chloe’s parents. Her mother rushes into your flat with a cry, and her stepfather isn’t far behind. Chloe wakes at the sound of her mother’s voice and wriggles out of your arms, making you wince when her elbow digs into your stomach. They meet near your coffee table in a desperate embrace, and sink to the floor in a mess of joyous tears. The others have moved away, and are trying to pretend that they’re not watching the emotional reunion, though even Max is hiding a smile. You stand and move to join them, wincing at the pins and needles in your legs, but before you take more than a step, Chloe’s mother is in front of you. She pulls you into a hug so quickly that you don’t have time to react.

“Thank you thank you thank you…” she murmurs into your ear, and you freeze. As quickly as it began, the embrace is over and she’s back on the floor with her daughter, but you’re frozen, paralysed by the guilt and self-loathing flooding through you. She thanked you. Her family had endured hours of terror and dread because of you, and she had _thanked_ you. There’s someone next to you, talking softly, but you can’t hear them over the roaring in your ears, and while there’s a tiny part of you that recognises that you’re being irrational, you can’t stop the emotions rioting through your heart.

It’s not until she takes your hand and squeezes that you come out of your fugue. You glance down, confused at the contact, then follow the arm up until you meet Rachel’s eye. Her expression is awash with concern, and as the roaring in your ears fades, you realise she’s still murmuring to you.

“That’s it, Millie. It’s okay.” She tugs your hand gently, and you let her guide you away from the girl and her family. They’ve fallen silent, the two adults now just embracing their daughter, but as Rachel leads you over to stand next to Stone, the mother raises her head from where it had been buried in Chloe’s hair.

“Can we take her home now?” she asks, looking from Tony to Sam and back.

Gina and Sam look at each other for a long moment, then the detective nods. “We’ll need to talk to Chloe at some point, but it can wait.”

“Take them to the hospital first, Tony,” Gina adds as they struggle to their feet. “She should be checked out.”

Her parents both nod, and Tony murmurs “Ma’am,” as he helps the mother to her feet. Chloe is wrapped in her stepfather’s arms, and is clinging to him like her life depends on it, but as they move towards the door she turns her head towards you and frees one arm.

“Bye Millie,” she says with a wave, and you feel yourself sway on your feet, even as your hand comes up automatically to wave back. You feel Rachel’s hand on your back, steadying you, but it’s still another long moment before you can concentrate on your inspector, who has started talking again.

“Right, now that’s sorted,” she says as the door closes. “I think we’d best be off. We’ve all had a very long day. You two can give your statements tomorrow.” The last part is directed at you and Rachel, and you hear your sergeant murmur an affirmative while all you can manage is a weak smile.

Gina and the two detectives move towards the door while you stoop to pick up the bag you’d packed but almost forgotten about before following them with your sergeants behind you.

“I’d still feel more comfortable if you went to a hotel,” Max grumbles over his shoulder as Rachel locks the door behind you, but you shake your head vigorously. There’s no way you’re spending the night in a building full of strangers. The detective inhales to argue again as you all trudge down the stairs, but Stone interrupts him from behind you.

“What if she goes to Rachel’s for the night, and I sit a couple of uniform out front. Would that be agreeable, Detective?” You feel your face warm at that suggestion, and wish that Rachel wasn’t behind you, so you could check her reaction without being obvious. After the events of this morning, you’re sure she reciprocates at least some of your desire, but you’ve never been good at reading people when you’re emotional, and the signals you have got are mixed at best. You know what you want, but you have no idea where you stand with her. The sort-of-argument you’d been having before Chloe had arrived hadn’t been resolved, and after her admission – _Someone who cares. A great deal._ – you’d been torn between snapping at her and pushing her against the wall and kissing her senseless. You haven’t had the chance to discuss the night before, and forcing that conversation when you’re both tired and emotional probably isn’t a good idea. Even though you would prefer staying with her over going to a hotel.

Max looks like he’s going to keep arguing, but Nixon interrupts him with a warning glare. “That could work. Assuming you’re alright with it?” she asks Rachel, and now that you’ve reached the bottom of the stairs, you can look at her, but she’s got her sergeant face back on, and whatever she’s thinking is frustratingly hidden behind it.

“Yeah, of course,” she says, and her tone reveals nothing. “Millie?” she asks, and for one, brief moment, you’re tempted to refuse, just to get a reaction. But then she ducks her head to meet your eye and murmurs “Please?” and you’re agreeing before you even think about it.

“Fine,” you mutter as the six of you file through the front door.

“Excellent. I’ll get Sally and Nate to follow you,” Stone says, waving the two constables over.

Max isn’t happy with the arrangement, judging by the way he storms over to his car without another word, but you can’t muster up the effort to care. You can hear Rachel talking to Gina somewhere behind you as you wander in the direction of Rachel’s car, but their voices are too low to discern specifics. You reach the car and turn to lean against it, in time to see your inspector nod reluctantly and your sergeant smile in thanks before they both hurry over to re-join you.

“Callum, we’ll give you a lift back to the station. Sally and Nate, take the IRV,” Gold orders, before turning to you and Rachel. “I’ll see you two in the morning. Go on, off you go.”

You slide into the passenger’s seat, shoving your bag down by your feet, and lean your head against the window. The cloud in your chest is growing again, and you can feel yourself slowing going numb. The guilt bubbling in your stomach, the fear burning through your veins, all of it is slowly shrinking under that oppressive, hopeless void. The car rocks slightly as Rachel drops into the driver’s seat, but you don’t look at her. She doesn’t start the car, and you can feel her eyes on you as the first drops of rain splatter on the windshield. The sound of water on the roof fills the silence for a long moment, but eventually she speaks.

“I can take you to Katie’s, if you want,” she says softly. “If you’re not comfortable staying with me…they—we pushed you into it. If you don’t want to, it’s fine…”

“Katie’s at her boyfriend’s place tonight,” you reply, fiddling with the seatbelt. Your sister had avoided you that morning, and she’d sent you a short text message at lunchtime, claiming her boyfriend was missing her and that she was going to spend a couple of days with him. You’re sure the reason is more to do with that fact that she caught you kissing your female sergeant; Katie has never dealt well with surprises, and while she was aware of your inclinations, being confronted with them at six-thirty in the morning is another matter.

You hear Rachel shift uncomfortably next to you, but you cut her off as she begins to speak.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you whisper, lifting your head to look at her briefly. There’s conflict in her eyes, and her hand twitches in her lap, as if she’s restraining herself. She doesn’t reply, and eventually you close your eyes and rest your head against the glass again, listening to the sound of the rain beating on the other side.

You can still feel her eyes on you, and she takes a breath, as if to speak, before seemingly changing her mind and releasing it in a sigh. After another long pause, she jiggles the key into the ignition and starts the car, pulling out from the curb without another word.


	19. Chapter 19

Millie was silent for the short drive to Rachel’s house, seemingly transfixed by the rain sluicing across the windshield, and Rachel was too drained, both emotionally and physically, to push her further. She was exhausted, terrified at the lengths Millie’s stalker was willing to go to, and deeply concerned about the constable’s growing bouts of despondency. Under that, there was the deep ache of longing in her heart, the yearning _want_ she’d seen reflected in Millie’s eyes in the heat of the argument, and linking the whole mess together was the ever-present current of frustration, the thread of helplessness that whispered she was doing everything she could and it wasn’t enough. Rachel wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t making things worse, and it was that self-doubt that stilled her hand when she’d desperately wanted to reach across and thread their fingers together. Instead she just drove, stealing brief glances across at her immobile passenger, wishing she had the ability to snap her fingers and make everything okay again.

Sally and Nate followed them the whole way and pulled up across the driveway after Rachel turned into it, a spot from which they’d have a clear view of most of the house. The sergeant wondered briefly what her neighbours would think of her having a police car outside her house all night, then decided that she was too tired to care and instead followed Millie to where she was waiting for Rachel to unlock the door, heedless of the rain that was slowly soaking into her jacket.  

Once inside, the constable made a beeline for the guest room, with Rachel trailing slowly behind her. When the sergeant reached her, Millie was digging through her bag with quick, jerky movements that betrayed the anxiety she was struggling to hide.

“Do you need something to sleep in?” Rachel asked her, pretending to ignore the way she flinched before she turned.

“No, thanks,” she replied, gesturing down to the bag in front of her. The constable was pale and looked very small, standing in the middle of the room with an expression that could only be described as _lost_ , and it took everything Rachel had to stop herself crossing the room to embrace her.

“Okay,” Rachel murmured after a pause. It was obvious that Millie was not okay, and seeing her like that was making the sergeant’s heart hurt, but Rachel had convinced herself that sleep would help more than anything she could do. “I’m down the hall if you need anything,” she added, before withdrawing into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed behind her. She hesitated briefly outside, fighting her desire to re-enter the room, but eventually mastered herself and turned, heading for her own room and forcing her turmoil to the back of her mind.

**…**

Rachel woke suddenly to a room still shrouded in darkness. A quick glance at the clock on her bedside told her she hadn’t been asleep long, a couple of hours at most, and she was looking around blearily for what had woken her when she heard the faint sound of ragged sobbing over the patter of rain on the window. Rolling out of bed, shivering slightly in the cold night air, the sergeant padded softly down the hallway towards the guestroom and knocked gently on the door.

“Millie?” she murmured softly, pushing the door open when there was no response. The constable was sitting in the middle of the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, and the dim light from the hallway shone off the tears streaming down her face. She was crying in the uneven, breathless manner of someone who’d been doing it for a while and simply couldn’t stop, and Rachel felt her a cold fist form around her heart and squeeze as she looked at her. “Millie, sweetheart…”

The constable shuddered slightly at the sound of her name. “I’m sorry,” she murmured in cracked whisper, and Rachel crossed the room and sank down next to her, pulling the constable into an embrace she didn’t resist. The door drifted shut behind her, leaving the room illuminated only by the dim streetlamp filtering in through the rain-soaked window, but the sergeant didn’t mind. Judging from past experience, they were both more honest – with themselves, as well as each other – in the dark.

The water running down the window was casting weird, liquid patterns on the streaks of light on the wall, and Rachel kept her eyes on their hypnotic movement as Millie twisted her body, burying her head into her sergeant’s shoulder, sobbing openly. Rachel ran a hand up and down her spine and murmured soothing noises into her ear until Millie’s breathing evened out, and she lifted her head and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay. Nightmares?” Rachel asked, but Millie shook her head and shifted out of the embrace, dropping her gaze to her hands.

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry,” she said again, twisting her fingers together until the sergeant reached over and took her hand.

“Millie, look at me,” she murmured, waiting until Millie’s red-rimmed eyes met hers. “What’s wrong?”

The constable took a deep, shuddering breath, then spoke very quietly. “I just can’t stop thinking about Chloe.” She looked down at their joined hands again. “She was so scared. She’s just a little girl, she was so scared, and it’s my fault he took her.”

“No it’s not,” Rachel objected fiercely, feeling the fist around her heart tighten again. “Even if it is connected to what happened, that doesn’t make it your fault.”

“She had one of those bloody cards. Of course it’s connected,” Millie argued, meeting her gaze again briefly before sliding her eyes down again. “He’s after me. He took a little girl from her parents to send a message to me. Her mother _thanked_ me.”

“Oh, Millie…” The fist got tighter still, and Rachel slid her other hand up to cup the constable’s cheek, lifting her head so their eyes met. “It is the fault of the man who took her. You have nothing, _nothing_ to feel guilty for,” she said emphatically, running her thumb under Millie’s eye to wipe away a stray tear as the constable leaned into the touch. “None of this is your fault.”

They were very close, and Millie’s eyes flicked down to her lips more than once before the constable took a shaky breath. “We never did have that talk.”

Rachel closed her eyes. “I know,” she breathed, stroking her cheek one last time before dropping her hand. “I…We should…” she started, then trailed off and let out a frustrated breath, unsure where to start.

“You scared me tonight,” Millie whispered after a moment of silence, broken only by the rain beating against the window. “When you chased after him. You didn’t have any backup, and I just kept thinking that if you didn’t come back I’d…” She stopped and scrubbed at her eyes where moisture had been gathering again. “I need you, Rachel. If anything happened to you because of me I don’t…I can’t…,” she trailed off, and Rachel squeezed the hand that was still wrapped around her own, unable to talk past the lump in her throat. “You make me feel safer,” she finally continued softly. “Last night was the longest I’ve gone without nightmares. You…” She dropped her gaze to their joined hands, where her thumb was tracing an arc across Rachel’s knuckles. “Last night… I’ve wanted….” she stuttered, then stopped, took another shaky breath and lifted her eyes again. Her gaze was filled with so much naked longing that Rachel almost stopped breathing as the constable started talking again. “I’ve wanted to kiss you from the first time I met you and I know you’re my sergeant and it’s against regulations but you make it better,” she said in a rush, fidgeting with the hem of her top with her free hand. “And I really hope I haven’t messed everything up because I need you and I’m sorry.”

Rachel froze from the inside out, paralysed by the heat spreading from her chest and stomach. Millie’s admission, along with the outright _want_ in her eyes, had ignited a fierce turmoil within her. The constable’s words, combined with Smithy’s encouragement and her own desire were swirling around, battling her doubts and insecurities and the whispers of Sergeant Weston. She was elated and dismayed and awestruck and aghast all at once, and there was a small, incongruous flash of irritation that Smithy had been right, and would probably be insufferably smug if he ever found out. The sergeant could feel Millie’s eyes on her, but was unable to move or speak past the lump in her throat, rendered immobile by the war inside her. It was an effort just to force air into her lungs, talking was far beyond her.

Millie watched her for a long moment, then dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll just…” She shifted further away, obviously taking Rachel’s silence as rejection, and swung her legs out of the other side of the bed.

Smithy’s voice echoed through her mind one last time – _“Life’s too short.”_ – and Rachel made an impulsive decision that, in hindsight, wasn’t impulsive at all. Her hand was still wrapped in Millie’s, and she squeezed it as the constable drew away, refusing to relinquish her grip. Millie looked over at her, startled, and Rachel pulled her back towards her, bringing her other hand up to caress the constable’s cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, then closed the distance between them and kissed her fiercely. Rachel could taste the tears on her lips, but as Millie melted into the contact, everything else fell away into irrelevance. The constable shifted back onto the bed and wound her free hand into Rachel’s loose pyjama shirt, pulling them closer together as a moan vibrated through every inch of her. They parted briefly to shift to a more comfortable position before coming together more softly, hands ghosting over shivering skin, exploring fingers tracing the contours of a jaw, heat radiating from every place their bodies touched as they lost themselves in each other.

Eventually, they slowly separated, and Rachel tucked her head into Millie’s shoulder. “I think I need you, too,” she murmured softly, her lips brushing against the constable’s neck as Millie twined their fingers together. “We should sleep. We both have work today.”

“Can you stay?” Millie asked shyly, and Rachel smiled.

Instead of responding, the sergeant just wriggled until they were both cocooned under the covers, twined together, and pressed another kiss to Millie’s lips. There was a tiny voice at the back of Rachel’s mind telling her that she’d made things both simpler and infinitely more complex, but in that moment, with the warmth of the constable’s body pressed against her and the calming beat of rain against glass, she found she didn’t care.

**…**

Millie woke only once more during the night, roused by nightmares, but Rachel quickly soothed her back to sleep, and the next time she opened her eyes, watery sunlight was shining through the window. They were still entwined, with Millie’s head pillowed on her sergeant’s shoulder, and her eyes fluttered open when Rachel stirred.

“Mmm, good morning,” Rachel whispered, and Millie leaned up to kiss her with a smile.

“I really like doing that,” the constable murmured, and did it again. They stayed like that, trading languid kisses until a strident beeping echoed down the hallway.

Rachel groaned and stole one last kiss before disentangling herself from the embrace. Reluctantly removing herself from the warmth of the bed, Rachel stood and followed the beeping back to her room, where her mobile was sitting on the bedside table, cheerfully blaring the alarm she’d forgotten to turn off. Picking the device up to cancel it, she noticed she had a new message. Yawning, the sergeant fumbled briefly with the phone as she flicked through it blearily.

The text was from Smithy, sent early that morning and letting her know that Gina didn’t want to see her or Millie before nine-thirty. Smiling, Rachel sent him a quick reply, then made her way back to the guestroom where Millie was just getting up.

“The inspector wants to see you when you get in.” Rachel told her, trying to pretend she wasn’t distracted by the flash of skin bared at Millie’s waist as she stretched.

“Oh, joy.” The constable pulled a face and Rachel smiled.

“She doesn’t actually bite, you’ll be fine,” she murmured, earning herself a small grin. “C’mon, we should get ready.”

**…**

After they had both showered – separately – and Rachel had cajoled Millie into eating something resembling breakfast, they left for the station. There was a different IRV out the front, this one occupied by Ben and Mel. The constable wound the window down as Rachel locked the door behind them, but the sergeant waved them off.

“We’re going to the station anyway, you two might as well go do some actual work,” she called with a smile, and received a mock salute in response. The IRV disappeared down the street as she and Millie dropped into her car.

The drive was quick, though the brief reprieve they’d had from the rain ended, and they both hurried into the station. Leon and Beth were leaving as they entered, and the fact that the constables were quick to waylay Millie let Rachel know that the case-related events of last night were already well known.

“Are you okay?” Beth asked, as Rachel hovered near the front desk and tried to pretend that she wasn’t watching Millie’s reactions. The constable had made her feelings about that question clear, and knowing that she’d probably be asked by just about everyone she came into contact with worried the sergeant. After last night, Rachel was beginning to understand the reasons behind her aversion, but she couldn’t stop herself watching for the flash of anger that usually accompanied the query.

The anxiety was unnecessary, thought, because the smile Millie gave in response was more genuine than Rachel could remember seeing since she’d found her in the alley. “I’m fine. Honest,” she replied, her eyes flicking briefly over to her sergeant as Leon clapped her on the shoulder.

“Good. Listen, we’ve got a shout, but if you need anything…” he offered, and Millie smiled again.

“Thanks, guys,” she murmured as they disappeared out the door, then moved over to where Rachel was punching in the door code. “I am okay,” Millie said in a tone that told Rachel her hovering had been noted.

“I know,” she replied, then reached out to squeeze her hand unobtrusively. They’d had a brief conversation about it in the car, and she and Millie had agreed that discretion at work was best for now. “Just promise me you’ll come and find me if that changes.”

“I will,” Millie murmured, smiling, though unlike the one she’d given Beth, this one didn’t quite reach her eyes. Rachel squeezed her hand again before releasing her and heading for the locker room, while Millie disappeared in search of the inspector.

**…**

“Heard it was an eventful night,” Smithy said as Rachel entered their office, eliciting a startled look from the blonde sergeant before she realised he meant the Chloe-related incident, not the Millie-related aftermath that had followed. “Is Millie okay?”

“She will be,” Rachel replied, smiling inwardly before changing the subject. She didn’t want Smithy going too far down that line of questioning. “Have we spoken to Chloe yet?”

“Not yet. She and her mum just got here. Jo’s settling them in the soft interview room.”

“Think she’d mind if I watched?”

“Probably not. There’s a joint briefing in the incident room in about half an hour.”

Rachel smiled her thanks and ventured out into the hallway, heading in the direction of the soft interview room.

**…**

Quietly entering the observation room, Rachel found Max and Gina already watching the interview. Sam and Jo were taking Chloe gently through the events of last night, while her mother sat beside her, seemingly struggling to maintain her composure.

“Rachel,” Gina murmured softly in greeting, while Max merely glanced at her. “How’s Millie?”

“She’s about as well as could be expected, Ma’am,” Rachel replied evenly. Gina shot her a speculative look, but Rachel kept her eyes determinedly on the two-way, secretly and irrationally worried that if she met that searching gaze, her already-too-perceptive superior would know instantly what had transpired.

“Did the man say why he took you with him?” Jo asked softly, and the girl nodded.

“He said we were gonna be a family,” she explained, clutching tightly to her mother’s arm. “He said he was my new daddy, and Millie was gonna be my new mummy. I told him I already had a mummy and daddy, but he got angry and said I didn’t.”

Chloe’s mother stifled a sob at that, and the detective spared her a glance before refocusing on Chloe. “So after he took you in the car, where did you go?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Was it where he lived?”

The girl nodded. “He put me in a room. He said it was my new bedroom, and if I was a good girl he’d put the handle back on the door.”

Jo frowned. “There wasn’t a handle on the door?”

Chloe shook her head. “There was on the outside, but not on the inside.”

“This place he took you to, was it a house, like where you live? Or was it a flat, like where Millie lives?”

“Like Millie’s.”

“Okay. What happened then?”

“I said I was hungry, so he got me some soup. He said I had to be a good girl ‘coz he had to go out for a while. The soup made me tired, and I fell asleep.”

“The hospital found traces of sedatives in her system,” Max murmured. “He probably slipped it in the soup.”

Rachel and Gina both grimaced as Chloe continued. “The man woke me up and said it was time to go and meet Millie. He gave me a jacket and said I had to keep the hood up all the time.”

Jo nodded encouragingly. “Then where did you go?”

“I don’t know. We got in the car and drove around for a long time. I fell asleep again. When I woke up, we were outside Millie’s place. The man was angry. He kept hitting the steering wheel.” There was a quiver in Chloe’s voice as she said that, and Rachel’s heart clenched when she thought how scared the girl must have been.

“You’re doing really well, sweetheart,” Jo said, smiling. “What was the man angry about?”

“There was another lady with Millie. He kept saying that Millie was meant to be alone,” the girl explained, and Rachel felt bile claw at the back of her throat. If Millie had decided not to wait for her last night, she _would_ have been alone. 

“What did he do next?”

“We sat in the car for a while. He said that when the other lady left, then we’d meet Millie, but the other lady never came out. The man got really angry. Then he said we had to go see Millie now. He wrote on this little card, and then we went up to Millie’s flat. He said I had to give her the card, and then she’d look after me. Then he knocked on the door and ran away and the other lady opened the door and chased him.”

Jo spoke again, but Rachel stopped listening, instead struck by an idea. No one, including Millie herself, had known that she’d be at her flat that night, which meant that the suspect must have followed them. Rachel turned from the two-way mirror and moved towards the door, halting briefly when Gina spoke behind her.

“Where are you going?”

“I just need to check something, Ma’am,” Rachel replied, letting the door swing shut behind her and hurrying through the warren of corridors.

**…**

Hissing slightly in frustration, Rachel switched camera angles and jumped back another hour, staring intently at the screen in front of her. She was in IBO, huddled behind one of several computers and so focused on her task that she didn’t realise there was a body behind her until a hand brushed her shoulder. She twitched slightly at the contact and spared a quick up to find Jo hovering behind her.

“Are you done already?” Rachel asked, returning her eyes to the screen in front of her.

“Chloe needed a break,” the detective replied, leaning over her shoulder. “What’s this?”

“CCTV from the front of the station,” Rachel replied, freezing the image. “There! I’m almost certain that’s the car I saw at Millie’s.” It was a dark blue Vectra, parked at the very edge of the camera’s coverage. The licence plate wasn’t readable, but Rachel could just make out the distinctive scrape above the wheel she’d noticed last night. She unfroze the image, and watched as she and Millie left the station. Moments after they drove away, the Vectra pulled out, cutting off another car and following them out of range of the camera. Rachel grimaced and rewound the footage, trying to work out how long the suspect car had been there.

“God, they were sat outside the station for almost four hours,” Jo murmured from behind her as they watched the car pull up. “If the press finds out about that, they’ll lynch us.”

“When her parents find out, they’ll lynch us,” Rachel countered, standing. “The DI needs to see this.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Okay,” Nixon began, turning from the board she’d been updating the timeline on to address the room. About half of CID were present, along with a handful of uniform. Rachel was perched on a desk at the back of the incident room, next to Smithy who was slouched in a chair beside her. “A recap for those new to the case: At approximately 1.45am last Tuesday, PC Millie Brown was assaulted while off-duty outside the Andromeda Bar by this unidentified suspect.” Sam indicated the e-fit of the suspect as Rachel shifted uncomfortably at having her constable’s ordeal described so clinically, and noted that she wasn’t the only one. Sam flashed the uniformed officers in the room an apologetic grimace before continuing. “The following day, we arrested this man in connection with that assault.” She indicated the mugshot of Jake Cassidy. “He told us he’d been offered money to lure Millie out to the alley by our suspect, but he was unable to identify him. Cassidy was later bailed and placed under surveillance. Later that day, Millie’s flat was broken into and this card was left, presumably as a message to her.” She held up the picture that Stone had taken of the rose on the end table and the ominous message beneath it, and Rachel shifted again, momentarily reliving the anguish of that night.

Beside her, Smithy straightened and leaned back, bringing his elbows back to rest on the desk behind him. The move brought his hand to rest beside Rachel’s and she smiled briefly down at him, recognising the subtle gesture of support as the DI continued.

“Cassidy was under surveillance when the break-in occurred, so we’re confident he wasn’t involved. However, the following night, he slipped his surveillance team by legging it out the back of a take-away shop. He turned up the next morning in Canley General with knife wounds to the arms and face. He claims the suspect came after him because Cassidy had stolen his phone as a sort of insurance policy. He was again unable to ID the suspect, and was arrested for the theft and breaching his bail conditions. He remains in custody.

“That afternoon, this boy, Jesse Myrson, delivered this note to the front desk.” Sam indicated an evidence photo of the second card. “He told us he was paid to deliver it to Millie, and was able to give us a fairly good description of our suspect.”

Rachel flinched slightly as something nudged her hand, and she glanced down to see Smithy looking at her with concern in his eyes. He looked pointedly down at her hand, and following his gaze, Rachel noticed that she’d subconsciously tightened her grip on the edge of the desk to the point where her knuckles were white and her fingers starting to ache. She forced herself to relax her grip and flashed the other sergeant what she hoped was a reassuring smile before refocusing on the briefing.

“Early yesterday morning, eight-year-old Chloe Anderson was taken from her home. Now, we had no reason to think the cases were connected until last night, when the suspect left Chloe outside Millie’s flat with this card.” Sam stuck a picture of the latest card to the board behind her. “Sergeant Weston chased the suspect, but unfortunately he got away. A description of his car is in your briefing notes.”

Rachel felt a few sets of eyes shift to her, but ignored them as Sam continued.

“Now, we haven’t been able to find a connection between Millie and the girl, but there’s obviously something we’re missing. These two cases are obviously linked; we just have to work out how. Our number one priority remains identifying this man. Max?”

“Guv,” Max nodded, moving to the front of the room. “We managed to narrow down the cards to a handful of suppliers, and we’re working on a list of people who’ve bought them over the last three months. The lists are too long to feasibly talk to everyone on them, but they will help in eliminating suspects. Forensics came back clean on the first two cards, we’re just waiting on the analysis of the last one now.”

Eddie, as if sensing he was being discussed, chose that moment to enter. “Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, sweeping to the front of the room and brandishing a folder.

“If you’ve got something for us, you’re forgiven,” Sam told him, and he grinned.

“I do, as it happens. We lucked out with this one. Got a lovely ten-point palm print off the back of that card and some blood around the edge, my guess is from a paper-cut. Your man’s getting sloppy, detectives.”

Rachel grinned as Max clapped the CSE on the back, feeling her heart lighten at the first real break they’d got in this case.

“Now, don’t start celebrating yet,” Eddie said, holding up a hand. “I ran the print through the system, and there’s no match, and the DNA results will take time.”

“How much time?” Rachel asked, unable to stop herself.

“A few days at the earliest. Probably closer to a week,” he said apologetically. “I had a word to the boys in the lab, and it’s top of the pile, but there’s only so much they can rush it.”

“Well, until then, we’ll work these other leads,” Sam said. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie nodded and swept out of the room as Sam started talking again, but Rachel was only half listening. They had him. With DNA, it was only a matter of time before they tracked him down and arrested him. Millie could finally get some closure, and above all, the constable would be safe again.

“Okay,” Nixon continued, clapping her hands together and drawing Rachel’s attention back to the front of the room. “This is good news, but we need to stay focused and keep working. So, going back to last night. Max?”

“According to Chloe, the suspect didn’t bring anything with him to subdue Millie, so his plan was probably to coerce her into going with him, probably by threatening the girl, then get her to his house. Rachel being with Millie disrupted his plan. It’s a good thing you were there, Rachel.”

Something in Max’s tone put Rachel on the defensive. “Yes. It was,” she replied shortly, pinning the detective with a warning glare.

He glared back but let it go. “We still don’t have much in the way of motive, but this guy is clearly willing to go to extreme lengths. I think we should consider putting Millie under a protective detail until we catch this guy.”

Sam nodded. “It’s been taken care of.” She glanced down at her watch and grimaced. “Okay, I have a meeting with the Super. Your assignments are in your files, thank you for your attention.”

**…**

Rachel was on refs in the canteen, staring down into her coffee, when a body deposited itself in the chair across from her. She looked up, startled, and couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her face.

“Hiya,” Millie said with a small smile of her own.

“Hi,” Rachel replied, fighting the urge to reach over and brush the hair from her eyes. “How’d your talk with Inspector Gold go?”

The smile slid off Millie’s face, and she dropped her gaze. “Okay, I guess. I’m confined to the station, and I’ll have a car on me ‘when possible’ when I’m not here,” Millie said, knotting her fingers together.

“You’re not happy with this arrangement,” Rachel guessed.

“It’s…I don’t need it,” Millie said after a pause. “They have better things to do with their time than follow me around.”

“The inspector doesn’t think so,” Rachel pointed out. “Did she say anything else?”

“She wants me to stay with someone from Sun Hill,” Millie murmured, suddenly shy. “I…Could I…”

Rachel fought the urge to reach over and take the constable’s hand. They weren’t alone in the canteen, and Rachel was wary of being too affectionate at work. Gina had only let her back on Millie’s case on the condition that she remain focused and objective, and Rachel was fairly sure that what she was doing with Millie constituted neither of those things. Instead, she smiled again. “You can stay with me as long as you like.”

Millie’s answering smile lit up her face, but before she could reply, Banksy stuck his head through the door.

“Millie, I need your help with something,” he called, and Millie pulled a face.

“More CCTV. Joy,” she said, standing. “I’ll, um… see you after shift,” she added with a soft smile before moving towards the door.

**…**

Things continued in that vein for the next few days. Most nights, Millie stayed at Rachel’s, barring the one night she’d gone home with Sally when Rachel had pulled a double shift to cover for an ill Stone. Each night she’d been followed home by an IRV with instructions that they were to stay outside unless they were desperately needed, and to return quickly if they did have a shout. Millie wasn’t happy with the arrangement, often insisting that she didn’t need the constant protection, and while her protests fell on deaf ears, Rachel did keep in mind that it meant that the constable was never alone, and she was careful to give her space when she needed it. She’d also been careful to let Millie set the pace of their changing relationship. Though most nights they ended up sharing a bed, one wrapped around the other like a limpet, kissing was as far as it had gone. Millie was getting better, but she was still Not Okay, and Rachel was determined to be a source of comfort, not added pressure. That said, Millie seemed to find her presence reassuring, and they ended up spending most of their free time together.

Work was a different story. While she hadn’t been consciously avoiding the constable in the station, Rachel hadn’t seen much of her for the last few days. A slight paranoia that someone would see their interactions and put two and two together – which was not unreasonable in a building full of coppers – had kept her from seeking her out, and the fact that she was working mostly with Max and Jo – who Millie had been unofficially forbidden from talking to – meant that they didn’t run into each other.

On the rare occasions that Rachel did go looking for her, the constable wasn’t hard to find, confined to the station as she was. Millie spent most of her time watching CCTV for CID, and was slowly going stir-crazy.

“I’m serious!” she insisted one night, as Rachel chuckled into her glass of wine. “If I have to watch any more footage of that jewellers, I’m going to start planning my own robbery, just for something to do.”

They were curled up on either end of Rachel’s sofa, the remains of the take-out they’d had for dinner on the coffee table and some mindless cooking show on the TV, though they’d both stopped paying attention to it a while ago. They were each cradling their second glass of wine, though Rachel was further into hers than Millie was, and were mostly just enjoying each other’s company.

“Maybe you should. I’m sure Banksy would appreciate an insider’s insight,” Rachel teased, smiling when Millie pulled a face.

They both fell into a comfortable silence, watching as on the screen, one of the contestants mutilated a steak beyond all recognition under the exasperated eyes of his teammates.

“I wonder if Tony and Leon are bored yet,” Rachel idly wondered out loud, but instantly regretted it as Millie’s expression darkened.

“They shouldn’t be out there at all,” she said, frowning as the mood in the room shifted.

“I know you don’t like it, but they’re here to—” the sergeant began, shifting to take Millie’s hand.

“Keep me safe, yeah, I know,” the constable cut her off, pulling out of her reach and standing.

“Millie…” Rachel started, placing her mostly-empty glass on the coffee table and reaching out towards her again.

“It’s late,” Millie said, then drained her glass in one go and deposited it next to Rachel’s. “I’m just gonna go to bed.”

She disappeared in the direction of the stairs, and Rachel let her go with a sigh, sinking back onto the sofa and rubbing her eyes with her hand. Millie’s mood swings had been getting less frequent, and Rachel had been getting better at predicting when they were coming, but sometimes they still took her by surprise. She’d also learned that it was best to give the constable space when she got like that; Millie hadn’t been properly alone since her attack, and Rachel knew that she occasionally needed time to herself to calm down.

Resolving to check on her before she went to bed, Rachel stood and drained her own glass before flicking the television off and clearing the remains of dinner off the coffee table. She lingered in the kitchen, wanting to give Millie a chance to calm down before she went up.

After fidgeting around for a few minutes, the sergeant gave in and went upstairs. The door to Millie’s room was open, and the light was on, but the constable wasn’t in the bed. Rachel hesitated briefly outside the door before knocking softly and entering.

Millie was standing with her back to her in front of the mirror, and didn’t react to Rachel’s entrance. Her shirt hung limply from one hand, and the sergeant was momentarily distracted by the expanse of skin on display, marred by almost-healed bruises along her spine but no less enticing, before her eyes drifted to the mirror and she realised what Millie was staring at. It was the first time Rachel had seen her abdomen since the hospital, and the sight of healing knife wounds, the reminder of that night, hit her like a punch in the gut. The larger cuts were scabbed over, while most of the smaller ones were nothing more than thin, red lines that would likely fade with no scars.

Millie caught her watching in the reflection of the mirror, but didn’t turn around. “I think he was trying to make a rose,” she said dispassionately, tracing a finger along the planes of her stomach as Rachel’s heart squeezed painfully. “I wouldn’t lie still. Maybe I should have. If they made a picture, maybe they wouldn’t be so ugly.”

The sheer self-loathing in her tone, the revulsion in her eyes, stabbed into Rachel’s heart and stole the breath from her lungs. For a long moment, the sergeant just stood behind her, speechless but searching desperately for something to draw Millie out of the spiral of disgust she was falling into. Finding no words, Rachel instead crossed the distance between them, wrapping one arm around the constable’s waist and tucking her head against her neck. Millie stiffened slightly at the contact, and her eyes flicked up to meet Rachel’s in the reflection of the mirror, but she didn’t draw away.

“Nothing about you is ugly,” Rachel finally breathed into her ear, fumbling for the words that would let the constable see herself as Rachel saw her. “You are amazing, and gorgeous, and this,” she splayed a gentle hand across Millie’s stomach and heard her breath catch in her throat. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Millie stilled in her arms, her eyes wide and focused on Rachel’s in the mirror, and for a moment the sergeant worried that she was going to pull away. But then there was a blur of movement, and Rachel found herself pressed against the wall, locked in a kiss that left her gasping. One of Millie’s hand was in her hair, the other was sliding around her waist, trapping her against the wall. Surprise quickly gave way to desire, and Rachel returned the kiss with equal fervour, though the sergeant didn’t realise her hands were creeping up the constable’s abdomen until her fingertips hit cloth and continued, making Millie gasp into the kiss as her palms ghosted over the swell of her breast.  

It was all heat, and fire, and _want_ , and hands roaming over every inch and hot breath washing over her neck as she kissed a line along her jaw. It was shivers and gasps of pure pleasure as Millie found a particularly sensitive spot, and Rachel gave in to it willingly because this Millie was better than the one who stared at herself with loathing in her eyes.

It was when they separated briefly so Millie could tug Rachel’s shirt off over her head that the sergeant realised what was happening, and fought through the overwhelming desire to think for a moment. They were both running on a diet of wine, anxiety and days of not enough sleep, and she didn’t want to rush into something in a moment of vulnerability that the constable might later regret. Even so, it took a huge amount of willpower to catch her hands, stilling them where they’d been trailing up Rachel’s ribs.

“Millie, wait. Wait,” she said breathlessly. They constable made a noise of consternation in her throat and lifted her head, the desire in her eyes slowly being replaced with confusion and doubt. “Are you sure? I just…I don’t want to rush you…”

The doubt disappeared, and Millie twisted her hands until she could press Rachel’s flat against the wall. “I’m sure,” she whispered against her neck, her voice rough with need. “Want this. Want _you_.” Her mouth slid down to the newly exposed skin of the sergeant’s collarbone and Rachel felt the last of her resistance melt away, so when Millie used their joined hands to tug her back towards the bed, Rachel followed her unhesitatingly.

**…**

The next day found Rachel sitting at Smithy’s desk in the sergeants’ office. Her computer had decided to stop cooperating, which on any other day would have irritated her enormously, but on this particular morning, she was no more than mildly annoyed. She’d woken up in her own guest room, twined together with Millie and feeling more content than she could remember feeling in a long time. Millie had slept through the night, untroubled by nightmares, and when Rachel had roused her with a kiss, she’d smiled beatifically and melted into it.

But while Rachel was still floating on her cloud of happiness, Millie’s good mood hadn’t survived the station. The sergeant had seen her walk past her office agitatedly four times in the last hour, but it wasn’t until the constable stopped dead at the sight of Eddie heading towards his lab that she realised why. The CSE had mentioned yesterday that the DNA results would be back sometime today, and though Rachel had studiously avoided mentioning it to Millie, someone else obviously had.

“Millie! In here,” she called as the constable passed the door again. Millie doubled back and stepped into the office, closing the door behind her when Rachel gestured.

“Sarge?” she asked, giving Rachel a questioning look that was slightly too guilty to be believable.

“You’ve been wandering the corridors for an hour. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the constable answered too quickly.

“Millie…” Rachel sighed, standing up from the desk and moving towards her.

“I’m fine, Rach, really. I’m just going stir crazy from being cooped up in the station, that’s all.”

Rachel wasn’t buying it, but it did give her an idea. Giving Millie something to distract her might help. “Here,” she said, snagging a sheet of paper and writing down an address she’d been meaning to check out anyway. “We’ve been getting a rash of hoax calls to this address. I’ve been meaning to get it checked more thoroughly, but I kept getting distracted.”

“Sarge…”

“I know, it’s probably nothing, but it’s been bugging me for a while. Besides, I thought you were going stir crazy.” Millie opened her mouth again, then closed it and sighed in defeat. “Take someone with you.”

“Everyone’s busy.”

“So find the least-busy person and tell them I said to go with you. I don’t want you going on your own.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Sarge,” Millie objected, her eyes clouding over in a now-familiar way.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, Rachel took half a step forward and brought a hand up to brush across Millie’s cheek. “I know, but… Humour me. Please?”

Millie’s eyes softened. “Fine,” she sighed, and Rachel smiled.

“Thank you. I think Arun’s about to finish refs, take him.”

Millie smiled and nodded before disappearing out the door, and Rachel watched her go, trying desperately to ignore the irrational dread creeping into her stomach.

**…**

Shortly after Rachel heard Millie drag a reluctant-sounding Arun towards the yard, Jo stuck her head into the office with a wild, triumphant expression. “Sarge! We’ve got him. Eddie got a hit on the DNA.”

Rachel stood immediately, snagging her vest from the desk as she hurried after the detective towards CID with her heart pounding in her throat.

“Eddie! Who is he?” she asked as she pushed through the doors, earning a glare from Max, whom she’d interrupted mid-sentence.

The usually jovial CSE was serious, and for once answered the question without embellishment. “The DNA came back a match to this gentleman, Troy Flint. He’s been dead for three months.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“The DNA was only a partial match. Your suspect is a male relation; brother, father, something like that.”

Jo spoke up from where she sat at her computer. “I did some checking, Sarge. Troy’s father is also deceased, but he has a brother. His name is Marcus Flint; he was a witness in a case last year. Millie took his statement. She obviously made an impression on him, because from what we can gather, he started stalking her a few weeks after his brother died.”

Rachel frowned, something niggling at her memory. “Which case was he a witness to?”

“That mass murder in Rigden Street. Flint was a neighbour, said he saw the guy running out of the house.”

Rachel felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach. “Which address did he live at?”

Jo leafed through the file. “Uhhh, 11 Rigden Street. It’s derelict now, apparently.”

“Oh god.” Rachel paled, her vision narrowing briefly before she turned and left the room at a run, reaching for her radio as she went. The detectives shot each other a confused look as they followed.

“Sarge?”

“That’s the address of several hoax calls we’ve been receiving, I just sent Millie to check it out. _212 from 25, do not enter the premises at Rigden Street. I repeat, do_ not _enter. Stay out and wait for back-up.”_ Static was the only response.

Rachel swore to herself and kept running, heading towards the yard with Max and Jo close behind her. She could hear Jo talking into her phone as they went, but couldn’t hear what she was saying over the sound of her own barely-controlled panic.

She nearly ran into Leon as he was coming up the ramp with Beth.

“Leon, I need the IRV keys,” she said breathlessly, skidding to a stop beside him.

“Sarge?” he asked, confusion clouding his features as he held out a hand to steady her.

“Keys! To the car!” He fished them out of his pocket, looking no less puzzled as Rachel snatched them from his hand. “Good. Come with me. Beth, get to IBO and try to get in contact with Millie.”

The constables shared a look, obviously confused by their sergeant’s erratic behaviour, but they both complied. Rachel paid them no mind as she reached the IRV and dropped into the driver’s seat, starting the car and flicking on the sirens. Leon had barely shut the door before she took off, just barely clearing the gates as they opened. Max and Jo were not far behind them, the tyres of the unmarked CID car screeching as they sped out of the yard.

“Sarge, what the hell is going on?” Leon asked, gripping the door tightly to keep his balance as Rachel took a corner far too fast.

Rachel explained as best she could, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice and her concentration on the road. She could taste bile at the back of her throat as she spoke, and was sure that her words were garbled with barely-controlled panic, but Leon seemed to get the gist and fell into a tense silence.

After making what should have been a twenty-minute drive in a little under ten, Rachel pulled up to the house behind the other IRV. There was no other sign of her officers, but as Rachel climbed out of the car, she heard a muffled shout from the house. As she started towards the door, skirting around the other police vehicle, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the street. Rachel froze at the sound, an inarticulate noise of horror tearing out of her throat as a figure in uniform was launched from the upstairs window, curving in a graceful arc through the air before landing heavily on the grass, surrounded by shards of glass and lying ominously still.


	21. Chapter 21

After a brief, horrified pause, Rachel forced herself into motion and ran toward the figure on the ground, feeling a small, guilty stab of relief when she realised it wasn’t Millie, but Arun lying on his back, surrounded by broken glass and struggling to breathe.

 “Arun!” She ran to his side and knelt beside him, checking for injuries as Leon called for an ambulance. “Arun, are you okay? What happened?”

“Just winded, Sarge,” he wheezed, struggling to get words out through his laboured breathing as Max and Jo joined them. “Threw me out the window.”

Rachel glanced up at the house to see that the uncovered window on the first floor had been broken outward. “Where’s Millie?” she asked, feeling the panic rising in her stomach.

“Got separated, searching house,” he coughed, trying to sit up. Rachel stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“No, stay down,” Rachel told him, loosening his collar and unzipping his vest. “Did you see anyone?”

“No Sarge. Just heard noise, then falling.” His breath was coming easier now, but Rachel was still concerned.

 “Okay. We need—”

“Sarge!” Jo interrupted her, pointing up to the window.

Rachel glanced up, and felt her heart drop as she got her first look at Marcus Flint. The first thing that struck her was how normal he looked. Aside from the wild look in his eye and the fact that he was brandishing a long kitchen knife, he looked completely average. Had he not been standing in the window with the blade pressed threateningly against her constable’s collarbone, Rachel would’ve expected to see him in a bank, or doing someone’s taxes. Millie was standing rigidly beside him, her eyes wide and frightened and fixed on Rachel. The constable’s vest and gear were missing, and the way she was standing, with her arms behind her back, made Rachel think he’d probably bound her with her own cuffs. Even from a distance, the sergeant could see she was shaking, and the white of her shirt was spattered with spots of red that made Rachel’s heart clench.

“Oi, you lot!” Flint called, waving the knife towards them. “I wanna talk to one of you. Not you!” he snarled as Max stepped forward. “Sergeant Rachel Weston. I want her here in ten minutes. Or bad things will happen!”

Rachel stood and stepped forward without hesitation. “I’m here. What do you want?” she called up to him, but he shook his head.

“Not like this. The front door’s unlocked. You come in here, alone, so we can have a nice little chat without all these nosey sods listening in.”

“Rachel, don’t!” Millie called, her voice cracking, but she quickly fell silent when Flint jerked her towards him, pressing the knife against her collarbone with a snarl.

“She can’t do that, Marcus,” Max called from somewhere behind her. Rachel shot him a furious glare, but quickly looked back up at the window as Flint laughed.

“Yes she can,” he sing-songed. “And she’s only got nine minutes now. Tick-tock.” With that, he disappeared from the window, dragging Millie out of sight with him.

“You’re not going in there,” Max said immediately, grabbing the blonde sergeant’s shoulder.

Rachel twisted out of his grip and glared at him. “Unless you can come up with a better plan in the next five minutes, yes I am.” Rachel turned away from him began giving orders, walling off the part of her mind that was almost screaming with panic. “Jo, call the inspector. We need CO19 and a hostage negotiator. Leon, set up a cordon, tell all incoming units no blues and twos. It’ll just wind him up if he thinks we’re bring an army down on him.”

Both officers nodded and moved away, while behind her, Arun struggled into a sitting position. “Sarge…”

“It’s not your fault, Arun,” Rachel murmured, pushing on his shoulder gently until he was lying down again. “Just stay there until the paramedics check you, okay?” She squeezed his shoulder once more then stood, looking at Max. “Stay with him, please,” she asked, then, without waiting for a reply, started towards the house.

She was almost to the door when Gina’s voice crackled from her radio. _“25 from Sierra Oscar One, Rachel, don’t even think about it. You stay outside and wait for CO19—”_

The inspector’s voice was cut off as Rachel flicked her PR to mute, though she could still hear her voice hissing from Arun’s radio behind her. She could feel her colleague’s eyes on her back, but resisted the urge to look back at them. Instead, the sergeant took one last steadying breath, then pushed open the front door and entered the house.

**…**

It was dark inside, the natural light blocked by the boards on the windows, and Rachel groped at her belt for her torch before she went any further. The house had the musty stink of decay, and the air was heavy and damp. The sound of footsteps creaked from somewhere above her, and the sergeant headed for the stairs, drawing her asp with her free hand as she went. The stairs creaked loudly as she ascended, and the sounds of movement paused briefly.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Rachel found herself at one end of a hallway. There were doors along both sides, all closed, but one had a thin strip of light visible from underneath it. Guessing that was the room with the window where she’d last seen Flint, Rachel moved towards it slowly, keeping her asp ready as she turned the handle and pushed the door open. Moving carefully into what looked like the master bedroom, the sergeant saw the broken window on the opposite wall, glass glinting on the carpet. The angle of the light from the window illuminated half the room, leaving the other half mired in dim shadow, and Rachel raked it with the torchlight as she moved further away from the door.

“That’s far enough.” A voice sounded from further in the room. Rachel froze, then slowly turned her head as the door drifted shut behind her. Marcus stood, alone, in the doorway of what Rachel guessed was an ensuite, brandishing a long kitchen knife. The blade was dyed the dull crimson colour of dried blood, and Flint tapped it restlessly against his leg every few seconds. His hands were cut and bleeding, injuries Rachel guessed he got when he pushed Arun out the window. The only sign that Millie had been there was a pile of police gear; Millie’s belt, vest, hat, and jumper were stacked in the corner, while her radio lay in bits near Marcus’s feet.

 “Drop them,” he demanded, and Rachel – unsure of where her constable was and unwilling to risk a physical confrontation – complied, tossing her torch and asp into the pile. “Belt and vest, too.”

“Where’s Millie, Marcus?” the sergeant asked as she obeyed, trying to keep her tone calm and level.

“Lock the door,” he said, ignoring the question, and Rachel felt the dread in her stomach tighten painfully.

“Where’s Millie?” Rachel asked again, and Marcus tensed up.

“I’m not telling you,” he snarled. “Lock. The. Door.”

“Okay,” Rachel said, holding her hands out and speaking in what she hoped was a calming tone. Taking a second to glance over at the door, she noted the sliding bolt that was obviously a recent addition. The sergeant edged over towards the entry, careful not to turn her back on Flint, and slid the bolt home.

“Okay, Marcus. You wanted me, I’m here. Now what?” Rachel asked, stepping away from the door and being careful to keep her tone even and her movements deliberate and non-threatening.

“Now we have lots to talk about,” he said, moving forward. He pulled the door to the ensuite shut behind him, but for one, brief moment Rachel caught sight of Millie. She was on the floor of the bathroom, gagged and blindfolded, sitting against the wall with her hands behind her. She didn’t move or react to Flint’s movement, and the momentary flash of relief the sergeant felt was quickly smothered by a wave a dread at the constable’s unmoving form. “Did you like my present?”

“Which present, Marcus?” the sergeant asked, trying to push Millie’s condition from her mind and keep her focus on the man in front of her.

“You know. I had the boy deliver the card. It was mostly for Millie, but it was for you, too.”

“You mean what you did to Cassidy,” Rachel realised, remembering the text on the second card. _‘I hope you liked my gift.’_

“Yes! He took advantage of Millie. He got her drunk. I couldn’t let that stand,” he explained, eerily calm for someone who was talking about slicing a man’s face open.

“I’m sure Millie appreciates that, Marcus.”

“Oh, she does,” he said, nodding happily. “I asked her, she said so.”

“That’s good. Can I talk to Millie, Marcus?”

“No!” he snapped, going from calm to manic in the blink of an eye. “Nobody can talk to her except me! Especially _you_.” He pointed at her with the knife, and Rachel raised her hands in an acquiescent gesture.

“Okay, Marcus.” She briefly considered asking why ‘especially her’, but before she could there was a noise from outside.

“What was that?” Marcus snapped as the strident yelp of an ambulance siren echoed from the street. He crossed to the window, gesturing at Rachel with the knife as he moved. Rachel shifted opposite him, circling around the centre of the room and keeping enough of a distance between them that she’d be able to react if he came at her. The move put her between him and Millie, and meant that if he wanted to focus on her, he couldn’t watch what they were doing outside.

Flint wasn’t paying any attention to her, instead focused on the scene outside the window. “There’s so many people out there,” he said, flattening himself against the wall and peeking outside carefully. “Why can’t they all just leave us alone? I just want to talk. Why can’t they _go away and let us talk_?” he asked, agitatedly thumping the handle of the knife against the wall.

Rachel had an inkling of what her colleagues would be trying to do, using the noise of a siren to cover the sound of CO19 breaking in, and knew that in order for them to succeed, she needed to keep Flint’s focus in the room. “Why did you take Chloe, Marcus?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her. “How is she connected to this?”

“Millie liked her,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When she finished talking to me that day, she went next door and spoke to Chloe and her mum. She was so nice to them.”

“So you thought that if you had Chloe, Millie would see how good you were with her.”

“Yeah,” he replied, pacing agitatedly back and forth. “I thought that if I showed her we could be a family…But then you got in the way.” He stopped moving and pointed the knife at her. “See, I thought you were alright,” he said, eyeing the sergeant accusingly. “You looked after her after we had that fight at the club and you got that rat Cassidy off the streets. But it was just an act! You’re just like the rest of them, trying to get between us!”

“I’m not trying to get between you, Marcus, I was just looking after Millie,” Rachel lied, trying to calm him.

“Don’t lie to me!” he raged, brandishing the knife. “I saw you that night. You drove her home from the club. You tricked her into kissing you! I saw it! DON’T LIE TO ME!”

Rachel’s blood turned to ice in her veins. He’d been following Millie from the beginning. How many times had she been alone and vulnerable? How easy would it have been for him to finish what he started? The fact that by now there was almost certainly at least one CO19 team within earshot who had probably just heard him yelling about the sergeant kissing her constable didn’t even register.

“It wasn’t like that, Marcus,” Rachel said, struggling to keep her tone calm and soothing even though her heart was pounding in her throat. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“You’re LYING!” he screamed, and Rachel saw in his eyes the moment he snapped.

Time slowed down as several things happened at once. Flint loosed an enraged howl and ran at her as behind him, door to the hallway disintegrated in a cloud of plaster dust and the shaped explosives the TSG had used to blow it off its hinges. Four CO19 officers stormed in the newly created entry, yelling for him to drop his weapon just as Flint reached her and stabbed wildly towards her with the knife. The sergeant’s limbs felt heavy and frustratingly slow as she moved to deflect the blow, and while she managed to divert the poorly aimed thrust, the momentum from his charge carried Flint forward into Rachel, and they both slammed into the wall behind her. There was an odd sensation of pressure just above her right hip, but Rachel ignored it as Flint, having dropped the knife in the impact with the wall, pushed away from her and raised his fist. He began to strike at her, but before he could complete the movement, two armed officers appeared behind him. One of them caught his upraised arm and twisted it behind his back as the other one swept his legs out from under him, and together they followed him to the floor, moving to secure him as he screamed in inarticulate rage.

Time slowly returned to its normal pace as more officers poured into the room. One appeared in front of Rachel and placed a hand on her shoulder, but the sergeant shook him off and pushed past him, heading for the ensuite. She felt her heart unclench when Millie reacted to the sound of the door opening, her movement banishing Rachel’s fear that she was unconscious or worse. The constable was still in the same position, her hands bound behind her around a railing that looked like Flint had added it for that purpose. She was sitting with her knees drawn up tightly to her chest, but aside from her uncomfortable position, she looked unharmed.

Rachel crossed the room swiftly and sank down next to her, uncovering her eyes and pulling the gag from her mouth. “Millie, are you hurt?”

The constable shook her head, and Rachel took a brief second to press a hand to her cheek before she stood and assessed her bonds. The railing was screwed firmly into the wall, but the wall itself had been weakened by months of neglect and damp. From her position on the floor, Millie lacked the leverage to pull the railing free, but it quickly broke loose when Rachel kicked it, and the constable leaned out of the way as it fell to the floor between her arms.

Rachel helped Millie struggle to her feet, then groped at her waist for the keys to the handcuffs before remembering her belt was on the other side of the room, where she’d dropped it at Flint’s command.

“Keys!” she demanded of a uniform approaching her. He blinked at her in confusion, and she spoke again. “Handcuff keys, now!” He fumbled at his belt, then extracted them from their pouch and dropped them into her outstretched hand.

As soon as Millie’s hands were free, she turned and flung her arms around her sergeant in an embrace Rachel returned unreservedly. The constable was shaking violently, and Rachel could feel her tears soaking into her shoulder where she’d buried her head. Behind her, Rachel could still hear the chaos of the arrest as four TSGs carried a howling Flint from the room as he continued flail and struggle violently, but her focus remained on the woman in her arms.

“Shh, Millie, it’s okay. You’re safe,” she murmured in her ear, struggling to keep her voice steady. It wasn’t until she flinched when she felt a hand on her back that the sergeant realised she herself was shaking almost as badly as Millie was.

“Is she okay?” It was Smithy. “Are you hurt?” Rachel started to answer, but he cut her off with a curse. “Shit, Rachel, you’re bleeding.”

As soon as he said that, Rachel became aware of a burning line of pain just above her hip. Millie released her and drew away slightly as the blonde sergeant pressed a hand to her side, and Rachel heard the constable gasp as it came away covered in blood.

“It’s fine, it’s just a little cut,” Rachel told them, pressing her hand back over the injury and wincing.

“C’mon, the paramedics are outside,” Smithy said, guiding the two women towards the door. Millie was still shaking, and her grip on Rachel’s free hand was almost painfully tight, but the sergeant didn’t mind. She was too caught up in the relief to care.

**…**

By the time they got outside, Rachel was beginning to feel nauseous and light-headed, and it was only the arm Millie had slipped around her waist, with her hand covering Rachel’s where she had it pressed over her wound, that kept her walking steadily. The constable’s other hand was joined tightly with Rachel’s free one, and the sergeant found the warmth of her grip surprisingly comforting. She could feel several sets of eyes on them, and was infinitely thankful to Smithy for leading them directly over to the ambulance, stopping the other officers who probably would’ve swarmed around them otherwise.

“She’s got a knife-wound to the side,” Smithy told the paramedic who appeared beside them as Rachel began to sway on her feet.

“Okay, just take a seat here and we’ll have a look,” he told her, and Rachel sank gratefully onto the back step of the ambulance. Millie still hadn’t released her hand, and her grip tightened as Rachel moved her other hand and the paramedic lifted her jumper, revealing her once-white shirt that was heavily stained with blood. He tugged the blood-soaked garment out of the way, shooting Rachel an apologetic look as she gasped in pain, and Smithy hissed in surprise as the wound was properly uncovered. It was a long, deep cut that ran along her hip, and it wasn’t pretty. “Well, Sergeant, you’ve won a trip to the hospital. That’s gonna need stitches.”

“Is she okay?” Gina appeared at Smithy’s shoulder as the paramedic covered the wound with a wad of gauze, concern written across her face.

“I’m fine, Ma’am,” Rachel tried to insist, but even to her own ears the words were slurred, and the world was beginning to swim alarmingly out of focus.

“She’s going to the hospital,” the paramedic asserted, helping the sergeant to her feet and guiding her onto the gurney.

“Millie, go with her,” Gina ordered, though Rachel was fairly certain the constable would’ve followed her into the ambulance regardless.

Lying on the gurney wasn’t helping the sergeant’s dizziness, especially once the ambulance started moving, and her eyes were starting to feel heavy. Millie was sitting by her head, and the sensation of her fingers carding through her hair was the only thing keeping Rachel grounded and aware, but even that wasn’t enough as the last vestiges of adrenaline faded from her system.

“Rachel? You need to stay awake for me, hon,” the paramedic told her, sounding like he was talking from very far away. “Rachel?” She tried to answer, but the words got lost somewhere between her brain and her mouth. “Rachel? Nope, she’s out. Run the lights, Kathy.”

He was still talking, but his words weren’t making any sense. The last thing Rachel heard was Millie breathing her name in her ear, but the blackness took her before she could respond.


	22. Chapter 22

Rachel woke slowly to the sight of a figure in uniform sitting by her bed, though not the one she was expecting.

“Hello Sleeping Beauty,” Smithy said, smiling. “You’re in St Hugh’s. How’s your head?”

“Aching,” Rachel rasped, looking around. “Where’s Millie?”

“Outside, giving her statement. I said I’d wait here in case you woke up. She’s fine,” he said, anticipating Rachel’s next question. “Rubbed her wrists raw on the cuffs, but apart from that she’s absolutely fine.”

Rachel nodded, trying to focus through the lingering haze of painkillers. “Arun?”

“A sore head and battered pride. He’ll recover. He’s back at the station already.”

“Flint?”

“In custody at Barton Street, raving like a madman. The superintendent thought it might be asking a bit much, keeping him at Sun Hill.”

“Good,” Rachel murmured, letting her head fall back onto the pillow and scratching at a small bandage on her arm where an IV had been. “When can I get out of here?”

Smithy smiled wryly. “Well, you lost a fair bit of blood, and that ‘little cut’ he gave you needed about twenty stitches. You also hit your head, which you failed to mention earlier. They took some scans when you were out to make sure there’s not more internal damage, they’re waiting on them to come back,” he told her. “I should tell them you’re awake.” He stood and moved towards the door as Rachel ran a hand over her scalp. She didn’t remember hitting her head on anything, but guessed it had probably happened when Flint had slammed her into the wall.

“She’s awake,” Smithy called into the corridor, and a moment later, a nurse appeared. He bustled around for a few minutes, asking Rachel about her pain level and shining a light in her eyes. After peeling back the dressing to check the wound on her hip and nodding to himself, he told the sergeants that Rachel should be able to go home once her scans came back, then left.

“So, from what I saw, I’m guessing you and Millie worked things out, then?” Smithy asked with a smile, resuming his seat.

Rachel blushed and reached for the water on the stand beside the bed. “We’re…getting there,” she admitted, taking a sip. “One more thing for the inspector and superintendent to yell at me about.”

Smithy chuckled. “Gina’s just happy everyone’s okay. As for Heaton, he’ll be heartbroken, but beyond that…Let’s just say he hasn’t always been immune to the charms of _his_ senior officers, and leave it at that.”

Rachel blinked at him, unsure which part of that statement to focus on first. “Heartbroken?”

The other sergeant laughed again. “There was a bit of station gossip that you and he had a thing, and that’s why you were moved to Sun Hill. You know how the rumour mill works.”

Rachel blinked at him again, but before she could press for more details, the door swung open. Rachel felt her heart swell as Millie entered. The constable had bandages around both wrists and a fresh bruise on her neck, but seeing her alive, mostly unscathed and finally _safe_ chased away the last vestiges of fear in the sergeant’s mind.

Millie seemed to be having a similar reaction, judging from the way she stayed frozen in the doorway as Smithy stood.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he murmured, moving towards the door. He squeezed Millie’s shoulder as he passed, breaking her out of her trance. She moved to take the other sergeant’s vacated seat and fidgeted with her bandages for a moment before looking at Rachel.

“Hi,” she eventually murmured shyly. There was obviously something bothering her.

“Hi,” Rachel whispered back, smiling. “You okay?”

Millie nodded, looking back down at her hands. “Just scrapes and bruises.” That wasn’t what Rachel had meant, and she was fairly sure Millie knew that. The sergeant didn’t say anything, just waited, and when Millie eventually looked up again, her eyes were filled with unshed tears. “I thought he’d killed you,” she said, her voice cracking. “When the TSG came in, I thought it was because he’d stabbed you.”

“He didn’t, darling. I’m fine,” Rachel assured her, reaching for her hand, but Millie pulled out of her reach and stood, pacing anxiously.

“You could’ve died. If he’d aimed it better, or been faster, or… It could’ve been so much worse than a flesh wound. You were there because of me; you’re _here_ because of me. If you’d—”

“Millie, stop,” Rachel interrupted her, stretching to grab her hand as she passed and wincing as the sudden movement pulled at her stiches. Ignoring the slight pain, she tugged Millie gently until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. “This was not your fault,” she said emphatically, squeezing her hand. “It was my decision, and I would do it again.” The sergeant reached out her free hand and brushed a strand of hair out of Millie’s face, tucking it behind her ear then letting her hand rest against her cheek. “I would do it again,” she repeated, and Millie closed the distance between them with a kiss.

When they separated, the tears that had been pooling in Millie’s eyes were rolling down her cheeks. “Come here,” Rachel murmured, shuffling over cautiously, trying to avoid pulling at her stitches. Millie swung her legs up onto the bed and lay down, curling into Rachel’s uninjured side and resting her head on the sergeant’s shoulder. The constable’s arm crept across to cover Rachel’s where it lay on her stomach, and Rachel pressed a kiss to Millie’s temple as she settled into the embrace and closed her eyes. They didn’t speak, and Rachel was content to stay like that, tracing random patterns on Millie’s arm with her free hand and just listening to her constable breathe. Every exhale washed warmly over the sergeant’s chest, and Rachel felt their rhythm slow as the constable sank into an exhausted sleep. 

That’s how Gina found them some time later.

“Don’t wake her,” Rachel murmured, squirming somewhat self-consciously under her gaze but unwilling to disturb Millie. There wasn’t much point now, anyway; the inspector would draw her own conclusions from their position. While she and Millie hadn’t discussed it, Rachel knew that eventually their superiors would have to be informed of the situation, though a hospital bed was hardly the ideal setting for that conversation.

Maybe the inspector agreed, for while Rachel could see the dawning comprehension in her eyes as she took a seat beside the bed, Gina made no comment on their proximity.

“How is she?” she asked instead, her voice quiet.

“The doctors say she’s fine. Minor abrasions on her wrists from the cuffs, but apart from that…” Rachel trailed off as Millie shifted, but the constable didn’t wake.

“Good. And you?”

Rachel briefly considered lying, downplaying her injuries, but the fact that Gina could easily check with the doctors stopped her. “Twenty stitches and a sore head. I’m fine. They’re keeping me until the scans come back to make sure the knife didn’t hit anything important.” Changing the subject, she asked, “What’s happening to Flint?”

Gina sighed. “Well, he’s not talking. He’s refused a lawyer, but he’s saying he’ll only talk to Millie.”

Rachel stiffened, subconsciously tightening her grip on Millie’s hand where it rested on her stomach. “That’s not happening. Ma’am.”

Millie stirred slightly, and Rachel forced herself to relax and resume the soothing caress on her arm. She settled without waking as Gina held up a placating hand. “Of course not. We don’t actually need him to talk; he’s got a mountain of evidence against him. Assault, assault on police, abduction, unlawful imprisonment, B&E… No, Mr Flint is going away for a very long time.”

“Good. That’s good,” Rachel murmured, her eyes trailing down to where Millie’s hand covered her own. She glanced back up to see that Gina had followed her gaze, and the sergeant realised that it had been optimistic of her to hope she’d avoided that conversation.

“Ma’am, I—” she started, but Gina cut her off.

“How long?” she asked, not unkindly.

“Not long. Not before…” she trailed off, but the inspector seemed to understand.

“It explains a fair bit,” Gina admitted. “Is this going to be an issue?”

“No, Ma’am,” Rachel answered. “Would you like me to put in for a transfer?”

Gina looked at her steadily for a moment. “Not yet, but consider yourself on probation. If I see anything that makes me think it’s affecting your judgement…”

“It won’t, Ma’am.”

“Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember telling you not to go into that house,” the inspector pointed out, and Rachel dropped her gaze.

“Ma’am, I… These were extreme circumstances.”

“Be that as it may,” the inspector started, but cut herself off when Millie stirred. When the constable only mumbled something incoherent and settled again, she continued at a lower volume. “Be that as it may, you disobeyed a direct order. Would you have done that if it had been anyone else in there?”

Sensing there was no safe way to answer that question, Rachel instead looked her superior directly in the eye, attempting to inject as much sincerity as possible into her next statement. “It won’t happen again, Ma’am. I swear.”

“You get one screw up, Rachel. That was it, you understand? If you ever disobey me or put yourself in a situation like that again, I’ll have you out of here so fast your ears will bleed, got it?” For the briefest of moments, Gina’s inspector mask cracked, and Rachel caught a flash of a tired, old woman who had buried far too many people she cared about. It was a side to the inspector Rachel suspected nobody – with the possible exception of Smithy – had seen, and with a flash of insight Rachel realised where the inspector’s apparent hard line was coming from.

“I understand, Ma’am,” she said, and meant it. Gina looked at her for a long moment, then nodded.

“Okay.” The moment passed, and Gina stood. “Right then. I’ll go and break the news to the superintendent, I guess,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, and Rachel let her head drop back onto the pillow.

“Not you too!” she moaned, earning herself a smile.

“Get some rest, Sergeant,” Gina told her, patting her gently on the leg before disappearing out into the corridor.

As the door swung shut behind her, Millie stirred and shifted in her sleep, wriggling slightly closer to Rachel and tightening the arm across her stomach. Rachel could feel the constable’s heartbeat against her, and it was that soothing rhythm that eventually lulled her to sleep.

**…**

The whole, crazy story came out over the next few days, filtering slowly over from Barton Street where Flint was being interviewed. From what the detectives had been able to gather from his ramblings, various complaints and psych reports, Marcus Flint had never been the most stable of individuals. He had numerous complaints for stalking and harassment, and had even been committed to an institution at one point. He’d been released into the care of his brother, and when he’d died, Flint had fallen off the radar. It seemed that Flint had fixated on Millie when she’d interviewed him as a witness to the murder of his neighbours, taking the constable’s friendly demeanour as a sign that his interest was reciprocated. After his brother died, he’d tracked her down and started stalking her, eventually taking offence at what he perceived to be her ignoring him. It was all very straightforward, standard issue crazy talk, and the prevailing opinion was that Millie had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and happened to attract the attention of a lunatic.

It wasn’t enough. The third-hand information drip fed by the police grapevine wasn’t offering the closure Rachel needed. So, after calling in more than a few favours, she found herself following the Barton Street custody sergeant to an interview room, trying to hide the anxiety clawing up her throat.

“This is it,” the other sergeant said, stopping. “You’ve got ten minutes. Shout if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Mike,” Rachel murmured, earning a gruff nod before her counterpart disappeared back down the hallway. Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves and remind herself why she needed to do this, Rachel entered the interview room, shutting the door behind her.

It was almost identical to the ones at Sun Hill. Same table, same two-way mirror, and the familiarity of it all settled some of Rachel’s nerves.

Flint’s head jerked up at the sound of the door opening. “Oh,” he said with a sneer. “It’s you. What do you want?”

Rachel said nothing, just shifted her weight to lean against the wall and crossed her arms, surveying the man in front of her. After a long moment, Flint dropped his head back onto the table.

“When can I see Millie?” he asked, his words muffled by his position.

Rachel shook her head. “You can’t,” she said softly, and Flint jerked his head up again.

“All I did was try to get her away from you,” he said in a tone that could only be described as whining. “I’m allowed to do that! She’s mine!”

“She’s not yours, Marcus. She never was.”

But Flint shook his head rapidly as she spoke. “She is. You’ll see. She’ll come and get me soon.”

“What?”

“She’s just playing around. She thought I was ignoring her, and that’s why she got me thrown in here. Right Millie?” He turned and addressed the two-way glass. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I know you don’t mean it. If you meant it, you wouldn’t be back there, watching me.”

Rachel shook her head gently, a confused sort of understanding dawning on her. “There’s nobody back there, Flint.”

“Oh no, she’s there. She can’t stop watching me, that’s how this all started. I know she loves me, really.” He turned to the glass again. “You can deny it all you want, Millie, but I know it’s true. If it wasn’t, you’d leave. You wouldn’t be watching me. I know you’re there, Millie, and that’s how I know you really care. You really love me.”

As he continued his tirade, Rachel gave up, accepting that he truly was just crazy and they’d likely get no further justification for his actions. She pushed off the wall and turned towards the door, leaving Flint ranting to the mirror. She had one tiny shred of spitefulness left in her that made her flick off the lights as she went, leaving Flint howling in the dark at the newly revealed observation room on the other side of the glass. It was empty.

**…**

Rachel was almost back to her car before she realised there was someone leaning against it. Her steps faltered for a moment before she continued, moving to match her position against the vehicle.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked after a long pause.

“Well, I am a copper.” Millie answered with a small smile. The smile faded when she glanced at the building behind her, replaced instead by an expression Rachel couldn’t read. “Did it help?”

Rachel hesitated, then sighed. “No. Not really. I thought… I don’t know.”

Millie didn’t say anything, but she smiled like she understood. Then she reached down and laced their fingers together, stepping away from the car and pulling Rachel with her.

“He’s gone, and I have you. That’s what matters,” she said, bringing their joined hands up to brush her lips across Rachel’s knuckles. “Now come on.” She deliberately turned her back on the station and started down the street, tugging a grinning Rachel with her. “Come and buy me dinner.”

And so they walked, their joined hands swinging between them, a shared smile on both their faces.


End file.
